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THE  LIBRARY 

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THE  UNIVERSITY 

OF  CALIFORNIA 

CERF  LIBRARY 

PRESENTED  BY 

REBECCA  CERF  '02 

IN  THE  NAMES  OF 

CHARLOTTE  CERF  '95 

MARCEL  E.  CERF  '97 

BARRY  CERF  '02 


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THE 


INGOLDSBY    LEGENDS 


OR 


MIRTH  AND  MARVELS 


BY 

THOMAS  INGOLDSBY,  Esq 

(THE   REV.   RICHARD   HARRIS   BARHAM) 


WITH  LLLUSTRATIONS  BY 

CRUIKSHAXK    AND    LEECH 


NEW    YORK 

WoRTHiKGToi^  Co.,  28  Lafayette  Place 


FIRST 'SER.IES. 


CONTENTS 


MOB 

THE  SPECTRE  OF  TAPPINOTON         ....  13 

THE  NURSE'S  STORY-THE  HAND  OF  GLORX    ...  61 

PATTY  MORGAN  THE  MILKMAID'S  STORY—"  LOOK  AT  THE 

CLOCK" ,61 

GREY  DOLPHIN .71 

THE  GHOST       ....                     ....  90 

THE  CYNOTAPH                   .          .                     ....  109 

MRS.  BOTHERBY'S  STORY— THE  LEECH  OF  FOLKESTONE  117 

LEGEND  OF  HAMILTON  TIGHE 155 

THE  WITCHES'  FROLIC               \^^ 

SINGULAR  PASSAGE  IN  THE  LIFE  OF  THE  LATE   HENRY 

HARRIS,  D.D 177 

THE  JACKDAW  OF  RHEIMS                  209 

A  LAY  OF  ST.  DUN3TAN 215 

A  LAY  OF  ST.  GENGULPHU3     .  .  .  .227 

A  LAY  OF  ST.  ODILLE        .          .                                           ,          ,  239 

A  LAY  OF  ST.  NICHOLAS  ...                                ,          .  247 

THE  LADY  ROHESIA           .           .                                             .           .  257 

THE  TRAGEDY           .                     269 

MR.  BARNEY  MAGUIRE'S  ACCOUNT  OF  THE  CORONATION.  275 

THE  "MONSTRE"  BALLOON      .                     ....  279 

HON.  MR.  SUCKLETHUMBKIN'S  STORY— THE  EXECUTION  283 

BOME  ACCOUNT  OF  A  NEW  PLAY 289 

MR.  PETERS'S  STORY— THE  BAGMAN'S  DOG       ...  801 

APPENDIX                                                                .          .          .          .  S» 


ivi557914 


TO  RICHARD  BENTLEY,  Esq. 


My  Db:a/i  Sir, 

You  *vi&ii  me  to  collect  into  a  single  volume  certain  ramb< 
ling  extracts  from  our  family  memoranda,  many  of  which  have 
already  appeared  in  the  pages  of  your  Miscellany.  At  the  same 
time  you  tell  me  that  doubts  are  entertained  in  certain  quarters 
as  to  the  authenticity  of  their  details. 

Now,  with  respect  to  their  genuineness,  the  old  oak  chest, 
in  which  the  originals  are  deposited,  is  not  more  familiar  to  my 
eyes  than  it  is  to  your  own  ;  and  if  its  contents  have  any  value 
at  all,  it  consists  in  the  strict  veracity  of  the  facts  they  record. 

To  convince  the  most  incredulous,  I  can  only  add,  that 
should  business — pleasure  is  out  of  the  question — ever  call  them 
into  the  neighbourhood  of  Folkestone,  let  them  take  the  high 
roiid  from  Canterbury  to  Dover  till  they  reach  the  eastern  ex- 
tremity of  Barbara  Downs.  Here  a  beiutiful  green  lane  diverg- 
ing abruptly  to  the  right,  will  carry  them,  through  the  Oxenden 
plantations  and  the  unpretending  village  of  Denton,  to  the  foot 
of  a  very  respectable  hill — as  hills  go  in  this  part  of  Europe. 
On  reaching  its  summit  let  them  look  straight  before  theu,— 
and  if  among  the  hangiLg  woods  wliich  crown  the  opposite  side 
of  the  valley,  they  cannot  distinguisli  an  antiquated  M  mor-house 
of  Elizab<'than  architecture,  with  its  gable  ends,  stone  stanchions, 
and  tortuous  chimneys  rising  aVtove  the  surrounding  trees,  why 
— the  sooner  they  procure  a  pair  of  Dolland's  patent  spectacles 
Ihe  better. 


It  prefacb. 

If,  on  the  contrary,  they  can  noanage  to  descry  i*;,  and,  pro- 
ceeding some  five  or  six  furlongs  through  the  aveni  e,  will  ring 
at  t\.^  Lodge-gate — they  cannot  mistake  the  stone  lion  with  the 
Ingoldsby  escutcheon  (Ermiiio,  a  saltire  engrailed  Gules)  in  hii 
paws, — they  will  be  received  with  a  hearty  old  English  welcome. 

The  papers  in  question  having  been  written  by  different  par- 
ties, and  at  various  periods,  I  have  thought  it  advisable  to  re- 
duce the  more  ancient  of  them  into  a  comparatively  modern 
phraseology,  and  to  make  my  collateral  ancestor  Father  John, 
especially,  '  deliver  himself  like  a  man  of  this  world  ; '  Mr.  Ma- 
guire,  indeed,  is  the  only  Gentleman  who,  in  his  account  of  the 
late  Coronation,  retains  his  own  rich  vernacular. 

As  to  arrangement,  I  shall  adopt  the  sentiment  expressed 
by  the  Constable  of  Bourbon  four  centuries  ago,  tes  e  Shaku- 
peare,  one  which  seems  to  become  more  fashionable  every  day, 

"  The  Devil  take  all  order  1 1— I'll  to  the  throng  I  " 

Believe  me  to  be, 

My  dear  Sir, 
Yours,  most  indubitably  and  immeasurably, 

Thomas  Ihooldsdt. 

T«pp!n|rton  Everaitl 
Jan.  ao.  1840. 


\ 


PREFACE 

I'O     THE     SECOND     EDITION. 


TO  RICHARD  BENTLEY,  Esq^ 

My  Dear  Sir, 

I  SHOULD  have  replied  sooner  to  your  letter,  but 
liiat  the  last  three  days  in  January  are,  as  you  are  aware, 
always  dedicated,  at  the  Hall,  to  an  especial  hattue,  and  the 
old  house  is  full  of  shooting-jackets,  shot-belts,  and 
"double  Joes."  Even  the  women  wear  percussion  caps, 
and  your  favourite  (?)  Rover,  who,  you  may  remember, 
examined  the  calves  of  your  legs  with  such  suspicious 
curiosity  at  Christmas,  is  as  pheasant-mad  as  if  he  were 
a  biped,  instead  of  being  a  genuine  four-legged  scion  of 
the  Blenheim  breed.  I  have  managed,  however,  to  avail 
myself  of  a  lucid  interval  in  the  general  hallucmation  (how 
tlie  rain  did  come  down  on  Monday !),  and  as  you  tell  me 
the  excellent  friend  whom  you  are  in  the  habit  of  styling 
*a  Generous  and  Enlightened  Public,"  has  emptied  your 
shelves  of  the  first  edition,  and  "  asks  for  more,"  why  I 
agi'ce  with  you,  it  would  be  a  want  of  respect  to  that  very 
respectable    personification,  when    furnishing    him  with   a 


PREFACE    TO    THE    SECOND    EDITION. 


farther  supply,  not  to  endeavour,  at  least,  to  amend  my  faults, 
which  are  few,  and  your  own,  which  are  more  numerous; 
I  have,  therefore,  gone  to  work  con  amore^  supplying 
occasionally  on  my  ovvti  part  a  deficient  note,  or  elucidatory 
Btimza,  and  on  yours  knocking  out,  without  remorse,  your 
superfluous  i's,  and  now  and  then  eviscerating  your  colon. 

My  duty  to  our  illustrious  friend  thus  performed,  I  have 
a  crow  to  pluck  with  him — Why  will  he  persist — as  you 
tell  me  he  does  persist — in  calling  me  by  all  sorts  of 
names  but  those  to  which  I  am  entitled  by  birth  and 
baptism — my  "  Sponsorial  and  I'atronymic  appellations,** 
as  Dr.  Pangloss  has  it? — Mrs.  Malaprop  complains,  and 
•Aith  justice,  of  "an  assault  upon  her  parts  of  speech,"  but 
to  attack  one's  very  existence — to  deny  that  one  is  a  person 
in  esse,  and  scarcely  to  admit  that  one  may  be  a  person 
in  posse,  is  tenfold  cruelty ; — "  it  is  pressing  to  death, 
whipping,  and  hanging !" — let  me  entreat  all  such  likewise 
to  remember  that,  as  Shakspeare  beautifully  expresses 
himself  elsewhere — ^I  give  his  words  as  quoted  by  a  very^ 
worthy  Baronet  in  a  neighbouring  county,  when  protesting 
against  a  defamatory  placard  at  a  general  election — 

"Who  steals  my  purse  steals  stuflT!— 
'Twas  mine — tisn't  his — nor  nobody  else's! 
But  he  who  runs  away  with  my  Good  Name, 
Robs  me  of  what  does  not  do  him  any  good, 
And  makes  me  deuced  poorl"* 

(n  order  utterly  to  squabash  and  demolish  every  gainsayer 

•  A  reading  which  seems  most  unaccountably  to  have  escaped  the  researches 
of  all  modem  Shakspearians,  including  the  rival  editors  of  the  new  and  illu» 
trated  versiona. 


PREFACE    TO   THE   SECOND    EDITION.  yil 

I  had  thought,  at  one  time,  of  asking  my  old  and  esteemed 
friend,  Richard  Lane,  to  crush  thorn  at  once  witn  his  magic 
pencil,  and  to  transmit  my  features  to  posterity,  where 
all  his  works  are  sure  to  be  "delivered  according  to  the 
direction ;"  but  somehow  the  noble-looking  profiles  which 
he  has  recently  executed  of  the  Kemble  family  put  me  a 
little  out  of  conceit  with  my  own,  while  the  undisguised 
amusement  which  my  "  Mephistopheles  Eyebrow,"  as  he 
termed  it,  afforded  him,  in  the  "  full  face,"  induced  me  to  lay 
aside  the  design.  Besides,  my  dear  Sir,  since,  as  has  well 
been  observed,  "  there  never  was  a  married  man  yet  who  had 
not  somebody  remarkably  like  him  walking  about  towTi,"  it 
is  a  thousand  to  one  but  my  lineaments  might,  after  all,  out  of 
sheer  perverseness  be  ascribed  to  any  body  rather  than  to 
the  real  owner.  I  have  therefore  sent  you,  instead  thereof, 
h  very  fair  sketch  of  Tappington,  taken  from  the  Folkestone 
road  (I  tore  it  last  night  out  of  Julia  Simpkinson's  album)  ; 
get  Gilks  to  make  a  woodcut  of  it.  And  now,  if  any 
miscreant  (I  use  the  word  only  in  its  primary  and 
"  Pickwickian  "  sense  of  "  Unbeliever,")  ventures  to  throw 
any  further  doubt  upon  the  matter,  why,  as  Jack  Cade's 
friend  says  in  the  play,  "  There  are  the  chimneys  in  my 
father's  house,  and  the  bricks  are  alive  at  this  day  to  testify 
it!" 

**  Why,  very  well  then — we  hope  here  be  trutiis !" 
Heaven  be  with  you,  my  dear  Sir ! — I  was  getting  a  little 
»xcited;  but  you,  who  are  mild  as  the  ni^ik  that  dews  tb» 


Vlli  PREFACE    TO   THJS    SECOND    EDITION. 

soft  whisker  of  the  new-weaned  kitten,  will  forgive  vm 
when,  wiping  away  the  nascent  moisture  from  my  brow,  1 
"  pull  in/'  and  subscribe  myself, 

Yours  quite  as  much  as  his  own, 

Thomas  Ingoldsby. 

Tappington  Ererard 
Feb  M  IR« 


TOE 


INGOLDSBY    LEGEiYDS. 


.♦fc—— ~, 


THE  SPECTRE  OF  TAPPINGTON. 

**  It  is  very  odd,  though ;  what  can  have  become  of 
them  ?"  said  Charles  Seaforth,  as  he  peeped  under  the 
valance  of  an  old-fashioned  bedstead,  in  an  old-fashioned 
apartment  of  a  still  more  old-fashioned  manor-house ; 
"  't  is  confoundedly  odd,  and  I  can't  make  it  out  at  all. 
Why,  Barney,  where  are  they  ? — and  where  the  d — 1 
are  you !" 

No  answer  was  returned  to  this  appeal;  and  the 
Lieutenant,  who  was,  in  the  main,  a  reasonable  person, — > 
at  least  as  reasonable  a  person  as  any  young  gentleman 
of  twenty-two  in  "  the  service"  can  fairly  be  expected  to 
be, — cooled  when  he  reflected  that  his  servant  could 
scarcely  reply  extempore  to  a  summons  which  it  waa 
impossible  he  should  hear. 

An  application  to  the  bell  was  the  considerate  result  \ 
and  the  footsteps  of  as  tight  a  lad  as  ever  put  pipe-clay 
to  belt  sounded  along  the  gallery. 

"  Come  in !"  said  his  master. — An  ineflfectual  attempt 
upon  the  door  reminded  Mr.  Seaforth  tbst  he  had  locked 


14  THE    Sl'ECTRE 

himself  in. — "  By  HeaveD  !  this  is  the  oddest  thiug  of 
all,"  said  he,  as  he  turned  the  key  and  admitted  Mr. 
Maguire  into  his  dormitory. 

"  Barney,  where  are  ray  pantaloons  ?" 

"  Is  it  the  breeches  ?"  asked  the  valet,  casting  an 
inquiring  eye  round  the  apanment ; — "  is  it  the  breeches, 
sir?" 

"  Yes ;  what  have  you  done  with  ihem  V' 

"  Sure  then  your  honour  had  them  on  when  you  went 
to  bed,  and  it's  hereabout  they'll  be,  I'll  be  bail ;"  and 
Barney  lifted  a  fashionable  tunic  from  a  cane-backed 
arm-chair,  proceeding  in  his  examination.  But  the 
search  was  vain :  there  was  the  tunic  aforesaid, — there 
was  a  smart-looking  kerseymere  waistcoat ;  but  the  mosi 
important  article  of  all  in  a  gentleman's  wardrobe  was 
still  wanting. 

"  Where  can  they  be  ?"  asked  the  master,  with  a  strong 
accent  on  the  auxiliary  verb. 

"  Sorrow  a  know  I  knows,"  said  the  man. 

"  It  mu8t  have  been  the  Devil,  then,  after  all,  who 
has  been  here  and  carried  them  oft'!"  cried,  Seaforth, 
staring  full  into  Barney's  face. 

Mr.  Maguire  was  not  devoid  of  the  superstition  of  his 
countrymen,  still  he  looked  as  if  ho  did  not  quite 
subscribe  to  the  sequitur. 

His  master  read  incredulity  in  his  countenance.  "  Why, 
I  tell  you,  Barney,  I  put  them  there,  on  that  arm-chair, 
when  I  got  into  bed  ;  and,  by  Heaven  !  I  distinctly  saw 
the  ghost  of  the  old  fellow  they  told  me  of,  come  in  at 
midnight,  put  on  my  pantaloons,  and  walk  away  with 
them." 

"  May  be  so  "  was  the  cautious  repljt 


OF    TAPPINGTON.  15 

"  I  thought,  of  course,  it  was  a  dream ;  but  then, — • 
where  the  d — 1  ire  the  breeches  ?" 

The  question  was  more  easily  asked  than  answered. 
Barney  renewed  his  search,  while  the  lieutenant  folded 
his  arms,  and,  baning  against  the  toilet,  sunk  into  a 
reverie. 

"  After  all,  it  must  be  some  trick  of  my  laughter-loving 
cousins,"  said  Seaforth. 

"  Ah !  then,  the  ladies !"  chimed  in  Mr.  Maguire, 
though  the  observation  was  not  addressed  to  him  ;  "  and 
will  it  be  Miss  Caroline,  or  Miss  Fanny,  that's  stole  your 
honour's  things  ?" 

"  I  hardly  know  what  to  think  of  it,"  pursued  the 
bereaved  lieutenant,  still  speaking  in  soliloquy,  with  his 
eye  resting  dubiously  on  the  chamber-door.  "  I  locked 
myself  in,  that's  certain  ;  and — but  there  must  be  some 
other  entrance  to  the  room — pooh !  I  remember — the 
private  staircase  ;  how  could  I  be  such  a  fool  ?"  and  he 
crossed  the  chamber  to  where  a  low  oaken  doorcase  was 
dimly  visible  in  a  distant  corner.  He  paused  before  it. 
Nothing  now  interfered  to  screen  it  fi-om  observation ; 
but  it  bore  tokens  of  having  been  at  some  earlier  period 
concealed  by  tapestry,  remains  of  which  yet  clothed  the 
walls  on  either  side  of  the  portal. 

"  This  way  they  must  have  come,"  said  Seaforth ;  "  I 
wish  with  all  my  heart  I  had  caught  them  !" 

"  Och  1  the  kittens  !"  sighed  Mr.  Barney  Maguire. 

But  the  mystery  was  yet  as  far  from  being  solved  as 
before.  True,  there  was  the  "other  door;"  but  then 
that,  too,  on  examination,  was  even  more  firmly  secured 
than  the  one  which  opened  on  the  gallery, — two  heavy 
bolts  on  the  inside   effectually  prevented  any  coup  dc 


16  THE    SP£OTRB 

main  on  the  lieutenant's  bivouac  from  that  quarter. 
He  was  more  puzzled  than  ever ;  nor  did  the  minutest 
inspection  of  the  walls  and  floor  throw  any  light  upon 
the  subject:  one  thing  only  was  clear, — the  breeches 
were  gone  !  "  It  is  very  singular,"  said  the  lieutenant. 
***** 

Tappington  (generally  called  Tapton)  Everard,  is 
an  antiquated  but  commodious  manor-house  in  the 
eastern  division  of  the  county  of  Kent.  A  former 
proprietor  had  been  High -sheriff  in  the  days  of  Elizabeth, 
and  many  a  dark  and  dismal  tradition  was  yet  extant  of 
the  licentiousness  of  his  life,  and  the  enormity  of  his 
oflences.  The  Glen,  which  the  keeper's  daughter  was 
seen  to  enter,  but  never  known  to  quit,  still  frowns 
darkly  as  of  yore ;  while  an  ineradicable  bloodstain  on 
the  oaken  stair  yet  bids  defiance  to  the  united  energies  of 
soap  and  sand.  But  it  is  with  one  particular  apartment 
that  a  deed  of  more  especial  atrocity  is  said  to  be 
connected.  A  stranger  guest — so  runs  the  legend — 
arrived  unexpectedly  at  the  mansion  of  the  "  Bad  Sir 
Giles."  They  met  in  apparent  friendship;  but  the 
ill-concealed  scowl  on  their  master's  brow  told  the 
domestics  that  the  visit  was  not  a  welcome  one.  The 
banquet,  however,  was  not  spared  ;  the  wine-cup  circulat- 
ed freely, — too  freely,  perhaps, — for  sounds  of  discord 
at  length  reached  the  ears  of  even  the  excluded  serving- 
men  as  they  were  doing  their  best  to  imitate  their 
betters  in  the  lower  hall.  Alaimed,  some  of  them 
ventured  to  approach  the  parlour;  one,  an  old  and 
favoured  retainer  of  the  house,  went  so  far  as  to  break 
in  upon  his  master's  privacy.  Sir  Giles,  already  high  m 
oath,  fiercely  enjoined  his  absence,  and  he  retired ;  not, 


OF    TAPPINGTON.  17 

however,  before  he  had  distinctly  heard  froiii  the 
stranger's  lips  a  menace  that  "  There  was  that  within 
his  pocket  which  could  disprove  the  knight's  right  to 
issue  that  or  any  other  command  within  the  walls  of 
Tapton." 

The  intrusion,  though  momentary,  seemed  to  have 
produced  a  beneficial  effect;  the  voices  of  the  dispu- 
tants fell,  and  the  conversation  was  carried  on  thence- 
forth in  a  more  subdued  tone,  till,  as  evening  closed  in, 
the  domestics,  when  summoned  to  attend  with  lights, 
found  not  only  cordiality  restored,  but  that  a  still 
deeper  carouse  was  meditated.  Fresh  stoups,  and  from 
the  choicest  bins,  were  produced ;  nor  was  it  till  at  a 
late,  or  rather  early  hour,  that  the  revellers  sought  their 
chambers. 

The  one  allotted  to  the  stranger  occupied  the  first 
floor  of  the  eastern  angle  of  the  building,  and  had  once 
been  the  favourite  apartment  of  Sir  Giles  himself. 
Scandal  ascribed  this  preference  to  the  facility  which  a 
private  staircase,  communicating  with  the  grounds,  had 
afforded  him,  in  the  old  knight's  time,  of  following  his 
wicked  courses  unchecked  by  parental  observation ;  a 
consideration  which  ceased  to  be  of  weight  when  the 
death  of  his  father  left  him  uncontrolled  master  of  his 
estate  and  actions.  From  that  period  Sir  Giles  had 
established  himself  in  what  were  called  the  "  state 
apartments ;"  and  the  "  oaken  chamber"  was  rarely 
tenanted,  save  on  occasions  of  extraordinary  festivity, 
or  when  the  yule  log  drew  an  unusually  large  acces* 
sion  of  guests  around  the  Christmas  hearth. 

On  this  eventful  night  it  was  prepared  for  the  un- 
known visiter,  who  sought  his  couch  heated  and  in- 


18  THE    SPECTRE 

flamed  from  his  midnight  orgies,  and  in  the  morning 
was  found  in  his  bed  a  swollen  and  blackened  corpse. 
No  marks  of  violence  appeared  upon  the  body ;  but  the 
livid  hue  of  the  lips,  and  certain  dark-coloured  spots 
visible  on  the  skin,  aroused  suspicions  which  those  who 
entertained  them  were  too  timid  to  express.  Apo- 
plexy, induced  by  the  excesses  of  the  preceding  night, 
Sir  Giles's  confidential  leech  pronounced  to  be  the  cause 
of  his  sudden  dissolution :  the  body  was  buried  in 
peace;  and  though  some  shook  their  heads  as  they 
witnessed  the  haste  with  which  the  funeral  rites  were 
hurried  on,  none  ventured  to  murmur.  Other  events 
arose  to  distract  the  attention  of  the  retainers ;  men's 
minds  became  occupied  by  the  stirring  politics  of  the 
day,  while  the  near  approach  of  that  formidable  armada, 
so  vainly  arrogating  to  itself  a  title  which  the  very  ele- 
ments joined  with  human  valour  to  disprove,  soon  inter- 
fered to  weaken,  if  not  obliterate,  all  remembrance  of 
the  nameless  stranger  who  had  died  within  the  walls 
of  Tapton  Everard. 

Years  rolled  on  :  the  "  Bad  Sir  Giles"  had  himself 
long  since  gone  to  his  account,  the  last,  as  it  was  be- 
lieved, of  his  immediate  line ;  though  a  few  of  the 
older  tenants  were  sometimes  heard  to  speak  of  an 
elder  brother,  who  had  disappeared  in  early  life,  and 
never  inherited  the  estate.  Rumours,  too,  of  his  having 
left  a  son  in  foreign  lands  were  at  one  time  rife ;  but 
they  died  away,  nothing  occurring  to  support  them  : 
the  property  passed  unchallenged  to  a  collateral  branch 
of  the  family,  and  the  secret,  if  secret  there  were,  was 
buried  in  Denton  churchyard,  in  the  lonely  grave  of  the 
mysterious  stranger.     One  circumstance  alone  occurred, 


OF    TAPPINGTON.  11 

after  a  long-intervening  period,  to  revive  the  memor\ 
of  these  transactions.  Some  workmen  employed  in 
grubbing  an  old  plantation,  for  the  purpose  of  raising 
on  its  site  a  modern  shrubbery,  dug  up,  in  the  execu- 
tion of  their  task,  the  mildewed  remnants  of  what 
seemed  to  have  been  once  a  garment.  On  more 
minute  inspection  enough  remained  of  silken  slashes 
and  a  coarse  embroidery  to  identify  the  relics  as  hav- 
mg  once  formed  part  of  a  pair  of  trunk  hose ;  while  a 
few  papers  which  fell  from  them,  altogether  illegible  from 
damp  and  age,  were  by  the  unlearned  rustics  conveyed 
to  the  then  owner  of  the  estate. 

Whether  the  squire  was  more  successful  in  deciphei- 
ing  them  was  never  known  ;  he  certainly  never  alluded 
to  their  contents ;  and  little  would  have  been  thought 
of  the  matter  but  for  the  inconvenient  memory  of  one 
old  woman,  who  declared  she  heard  her  grandfather 
say  that  when  the  "stranger  guest"  was  poisoned, 
though  all  the  rest  of  his  clothes  were  there,  his 
breeches,  the  supposed  repository  of  the  supposed 
documents,  could  never  be  found.  The  master  of  Tap- 
ton  Everard  smiled  when  he  heard  Dame  Jones's  hint 
of  deeds  which  might  impeach  the  validity  of  his 
own  title  in  favour  of  some  unknown  descendant  of 
some  unknown  heir ;  and  the  story  was  rarely  alluded 
to,  save  by  one  or  two  miracle-mongers,  who  had 
heard  that  others  had  seen  the  ghost  of  old  Sir  Giles, 
in  his  night-cap,  issue  from  the  postern,  enter  the 
adjoining  copse,  and  wring  his  shadowy  hands  in 
agony,  as  he  seemed  to  search  vainly  for  something 
hidden  among  the  evergreens.  The  stranger's  death- 
room  had,  of  course,  been  occasionally  hauntid  from 


20  THE    SPECTRE 

the  time  of  his  decease;  but  the  periods  of  visitation 
had  latterly  become  very  rare, — even  Mrs.  Botherby 
the  housekeeper,  being  forced  to  admit  that,  during  hei 
long  sojourn  at  the  manor,  she  had  never  "  met  with 
anything  worse  than  herself ;"  though  as  the  old  lady 
afterwards  added  upon  more  mature  reflection,  "I 
must  say  I  think  I  saw  the  devil  oncer 

Such  was  the  legend  attached  to  Tapton  Everard, 
and  such  the  story  which  the  lively  Carohne  Ingoldsby 
detailed  to  her  equally  mercurial  cousin  Charles  Sea- 
forth,  lieutenant  in  the  Hon.  East  India  Company's 
second  regiment  of  Bombay  Fencibles,  as  arm-in-arm 
they  promenaded  a  gallery  decked  with  some  dozen 
grim-looking  ancestral  portraits,  and,  among  others, 
with  that  of  the  redoubted  Sir  Giles  himself.  The 
gallant  commander  had  that  very  morning  paid  his 
first  visit  to  the  house  of  his  maternal  uncle,  after  an 
absence  of  several  years  passed  with  his  regiment  on  the 
arid  plains  of  Hindostan,  whence  he  was  now  returned 
on  a  three  years'  furlough.  He  had  gone  out  a  boy, 
— he  returned  a  man  ;  but  the  impression  made  upon 
his  youthful  fancy  by  his  favourite  cousin  remained 
unimpaired,  and  to  Tapton  he  directed  his  steps,  even 
before  he  sought  the  home  of  his  widowed  mother, — 
comforting:  himself  in  this  breach  of  filial  decorum  bv 
the  reflection  that,  as  the  manor  was  so  little  out  of  his 
way,  it  would  be  unkind  to  pass,  as  it  were,  the  door 
of  his  relatives  without  just  looking  in  for  a  few  hours. 

But  he  found  his  uncle  as  hospitable  and  his  cousin 
more  charming  than  ever ;  and  the  looks  of  one,  and 
the  requests  of  the  other,  soon  precluded  the  possibility 
of  refusing  to  lengthen  the  "  few  hours "  into   u  feiff 


CF    TAPriNGTON.  2  J 

days,  though  the  house  was  at  the  moment  full  ot 
visiters. 

The  Peterses  were  there  from  Ramsgate ;  and  Mr., 
Mrs.,  and  the  two  Miss  Simpkinsons,  from  Bath,  had 
come  to  pass  a  month  with  the  family ;  and  Tom 
Ingoldsby  had  brought  down  his  college  friend,  the 
Honourable  Augustus  Sucklethumbkin,  with  his  groom 
and  pointers,  to  take  a  fortnight's  shooting.  And  then 
there  was  Mrs.  Ogleton,  the  rich  young  widow,  with  her 
large  black  eyes,  who,  people  did  say,  was  setting  her 
cap  at  the  young  squire,  though  Mrs.  Botherby  did  not 
believe  it ;  and,  above  all,  there  was  Mademoiselle  Pau- 
line, hQTfemme  de  chamhre^  who  "  mon-Dieu'd  "  every- 
thing and  everybody,  and  cried  "  ^i/e/  korreur/"a.i 
Mrs.  Botherby's  cap.  In  short,  to  use  the  last-named 
and  much  respected  lady's  own  expression,  the  house 
was  "choke-full"  to  the  very  attics, — all,  save  the 
"  oaken  chamber,"  which,  as  the  lieutenant  expressed  a 
most  magnificent  disregard  of  ghosts,  was  forthwith 
appropriated  to  his  particular  accommodation.  Mr. 
Maguire,  meanwhile,  was  fain  to  share  the  apartment 
of  Oliver  Dobbs,  the  squire's  own  man :  a  jocular  pro- 
posal of  joint  occupancy  having  been  at  first  indignantly 
rejected  by  "  Mademoiselle,"  though  preferred  with  the 
"laste  taste  in  life"  of  Mr.  Barney's  most  insinuating 

brogue. 

***** 

"  Come,  Charles,  the  urn  is  absolutely  getting  cold ; 
your  breakfast  will  be  quite  spoiled :  what  can  have 
made  you  so  idle  ? "  Such  was  the  morning  salutation 
of  Miss  Ingoldsby  to  the  militaire  as  he  entered  the 
breakfast-room  half  an  hour  after  the  la+<est  of  the  party 


22  THE    SPECTRE 

"A  pretty  gentleman,  truly,  to  maki  an  appointment 
with,"  chimed  in  Miss  Frances.  "  What  is  become  of 
our  ramble  to  the  rocks  before  breakfast  ?  " 

"  Oh  !  the  young  men  never  think  of  keeping  a  pro- 
mise now,"  said  Mrs.  Peters,  a  little  ferret-faced  woman 
with  underdone  eyes. 

"  When  I  was  a  young  man,"  said  Mr.  Peters,  "  I 
remember  I  always  made  a  point  of " 

"  Pray  how  long  ago  was  that  ?  "  asked  Mr.  Simpkin- 
son  from  Bath. 

"  Why,  sir,  when  I  married  Mrs.  Peters,  I  was — let 
me  see — I  was " 

"  Do  pray  hold  your  tongue,  P.,  and  eat  your  break- 
fast ! "  interrupted  his  better  half,  who  had  a  mortal 
horror  of  chronological  references  ;  "  it's  very  rude  to 
tease  people  with  your  family  afiairs." 

The  lieutenant  had  by  this  time  taken  his  seat  in 
silence, — a  good-humoured  nod,  and  a  glance,  half- 
smiling,  half-inquisitive,  being  the  extent  of  his  saluta- 
tion. Smitten  as  he  was,  and  in  the  immediate  presence 
of  her  who  had  made  so  large  a  hole  in  his  heart, 
his  manner  was  evidently  distrait,  which  the  fair  Caro- 
line in  her  secret  soul  attributed  to  his  being  solely 
occupied  by  her  agremens, — how  would  she  have 
bridled  had  she  known  that  they  only  shared  his  medi- 
tations with  a  pair  of  breeches ! 

Charles  drank  his  coffee  and  spiked  some  half-dozen 
eggs,  darting  occasionally  a  penetrating  glance  at  the 
ladies,  in  hope  of  detecting  the  supposed  waggery  by 
the  evidence  of  some  furtive  smile  or  conscious  look. 
But  in  vain  ;  not  a  dimple  moved  indicative  of  roguery, 
nor  did  the  slightest  el*»vation  of  eyebrow  rise  confirm  i 


GF    TAPPINGTON.  23 

live  of  liis  suspicions.  Hints  and  insinuations  passed 
unheeded, — more  particular  inquiries  were  out  of  the 
question  : — the  subject  was  unapproachable. 

In  the  meantime,  "  patent  cords  "  were  just  the  thing 
for  a  morning's  ride ;  and,  breakfast  ended,  away  can- 
tered the  party  over  the  downs,  till,  every  faculty  ab- 
sorbed by  the  beauties,  animate  and  inanimate,  which 
surrounded  him.  Lieutenant  Seaforth  of  the  Bombay 
Fencibles  bestowed  no  more  thought  upon  his  breeches 
than  if  he  had  been  born  on  the  top  of  Ben  Lomond. 

*  *  %S:  ^  * 

Another  night  had  passed  away ;  the  sun  rose  brib 
liantly,  forming  with  his  level  beams  a  splendid  rain 
bow  in  the  far-ofi"  west,  whither  the  heavy  cloud,  which 
for  the  last  two  hours  had  been  pouring  its  waters  on 
the  earth,  was  now  flying  before  him. 

"Ah  !  then,  and  it's  little  good  it'll  be  the  claning  of 
ye,"  apostrophised  Mr.  Barney  Maguire,  as  he  deposited 
in  front  of  his  master's  toilet,  a  pair  of  "bran-new" 
jockey  boots,  one  of  Hoby's  primest  fits,  which  the 
lieutenant  had  purchased  in  his  way  through  town.  On 
that  very  morning  had  they  come  for  the  first  time 
under  the  valet's  depurating  hand,  so  little  soiled, 
indeed,  from  the  turfy  ride  of  the  preceding  day,  that  a 
less  scrupulous  domestic  might,  perhaps,  have  considered 
the  application  of  "  Warren's  Matchless,"  or  oxalic  acid, 
altogether  superfluous.  Not  so  Barney  :  with  the  nicest 
care  had  he  removed  the  slightest  impurity  from  each 
polished  surface,  and  there  they  stood  rejoicing  in  theii 
sable  radiance.  No  wonder  a  pang  shot  across  Mr 
Maguue's  breast,  as  he  thought  on  the  work  no\» 
cut  out  for  them,  so  different  from  the  light  labours  of 


24 


THE    SPECTRE 


the  day  before ;  no  wonder  lie  mu-mured  with  a  sigh 
as  the  scarce-dried  window-panes  disclosed  a  road  no\f 
inch-deep  in  mud,  "Ah  !  then,  it's  little  good  the  claning 
of  ye ! " — for  well  had  he  learned  in  the  hall  below 
that  eight  miles  of  a  stiff  clay  soil  lay  between  the  ma 
nor  and  Bolsover  Abbey,  whose  picturesque  ruins, 

"Like  ancient  Rome,  majestic  in  decay," 

the  party  had  determined  to  explore.  The  master  had 
already  commenced  dressing,  and  the  man  was  fitticg 
straps  upon  a  light  pair  of  crane-necked  spurs,  when  his 
hand  was  arrested  by  the  old  question, — "Barney, 
where  are  the  breeches  ? " 

They  were  nowhere  to  be  found ! 

%  %  ^  %  % 

Mr.  Seaforth  descended  that  morning,  whip  in  band, 
and  equipped  in  a  handsome  green  riding-frock,  but  no 
"  breeches  and  boots  to  match  "  were  there :  loose  jean 
trowsers,  surmounting  a  pair  of  diminutive  WelHngtons, 
embraced,  somewhat  incongruously,  his  nether  man, 
vice  the  "  patent  cords,"  returned,  like  yesterday's  panta- 
loons, absent  without  leave.  The  "  top-boots "  had  a 
holiday. 

"  A  fine  morning  after  the  rain,"  said  Mr.  Simpkinson 
from  Bath. 

"  Just  the  thing  for  the  'ops,"  said  Mr.  Peters.  "  I 
remember  when  I  was  a  boy — " 

"  Do  hold  your  tongue.  P.,"  said  Mrs.  Peters, — advice 
which  that  exemplary  matron  was  in  the  constant  habit 
of  administering  to  "  her  P."  as  she  called  him,  when- 
ever he  prepared  to  vent  his  reminiscences.     Her  precise 


OF    TAPPINGTON.  25 

reason  for  this  it  would  be  difficult  to  determine,  jnless, 
indeed,  the  story  be  true  which  a  little  bird  had  whis- 
pere-l  into  Mrs.  Botherby's  ear, — Mr.  Peters,  though  now 
a  wealthy  man,  had  received  a  liberal  education  at  a 
charity  school,  and  was  apt  to  recur  to  the  days  of  his 
muffin-cap  and  leathers.  As  usual,  he  took  his  wife's 
hint  in  good  part,  and  "  paused  in  his  reply." 

"  A  glorious  day  for  the  ruins ! "  said  young  Ingoldsby. 
"But,  Charles,  \\hat  the  deuce  are  you  about? — you 
don't  mean  to  ride  through  our  lanes  in  such  toggery 
as  that  ? " 

"  Lassy  me  ! "  said  Miss  Julia  Simpkinson,  "  wont 
you  be  very  wet  ?  " 

"  You  had  better  take  Tom's  cab,"  quoth  the  squire. 

But  this  proposition  was  at  once  overruled  ;  Mrs. 
Ogleton  had  already  nailed  the  cab,  a  vehicle  of  all 
others  the  best  adapted  for  a  snug  flirtation. 

"  Or  drive  Miss  Julia  in  the  phaeton  ?  "  No  ;  that 
was  the  post  of  Mr.  Peters,  who,  indifferent  as  an  eques- 
trian, had  acquired  some  fame  as  a  whip  while  travel- 
ling through  the  midland  counties  for  the  firm  of  Bag- 
shaw,  Snivelby,  and  Ghrimes. 

"Thank  you,  I  shall  ride  with  my  cousins,"  said 
Charles  with  as  much  nonchalance  as  he  could  assume, 
— and  he  did  so  ;  Mr.  Ingoldsby,  Mrs.  Peters,  Mr.  Simp 
kinson  from  Bath,  and  his  eldest  daughter  with  her 
album,  following  in  the  family  coach.  The  gentleman- 
commoner  "  voted  the  affair  d — d  slow,"  and  declined 
the  party  altogether  in  favour  of  the  game-keeper  and  a 
cigar.  "  There  was  '  no  fun '  in  looking  at  old  houses  ! " 
Mrs.  Simpkinson  preferred  a  short  sejour  in  the  still- 
room  with  Mrs.  Botherby,  who  had  promised  to  initiate 

FIRST    SERIES.  2 


26  THE  SPECTRE 

her  in  that  grand  arcanum^  tlie  transmutation  of  goose* 

berry  jam  into  Guava  jelly. 

***** 

•  *'  Did  you  ever  see  an  old  abbey  before,  Mr  Peters  ? " 
"  Yes,  miss,  a  French  one  ;  we  have  got  one  at  Rams- 
gate  ;  he  teaches  the  Miss  Joneses  to  parley-voo,  and  is 
turned  of  sixty." 

Miss  Simpkinson  closed  her  album  with  an  air  of 
ineffable  disdain. 

^Ir.  Simpkinson  from  Bath  was  a  professed  antiquary, 
and  one  of  the  first  water  ;  he  was  master  of  Gwillim's 
Heraldry,  and  ^lilles's  History  of  the  Crusades ;  knew 
every  plate  in  the  Monasticon  ; — had  written  an  essay 
on  the  origin  and  dignity  of  the  office  of  overseer,  and 
settled  the  date  of  a  Queen  Anne's  farthing.  An  influ- 
ential member  of  the  Antiquarian  Society,  to  whose 
"  Beauties  of  Bagnigge  Wells  "  he  had  been  a  liberal 
subscriber,  procured  him  a  seat  at  the  board  of  that 
learned  body,  since  which  happy  epoch  Sylvanus  Urban 
had  not  a  more  indefatigable  correspondent.  His 
inaugural  essay  on  the  President's  cocked  hat,  was  cod 
sidered  a  miracle  of  erudition  ;  and  his  account  of  the 
earliest  application  of  gilding  to  gingerbread,  a  master 
piece  of  antiquarian  research.  His  eldest  daughter  was 
of  a  kindred  spirit :  if  her  father's  mantle  had  not  fallen 
upon  her,  it  was  only  because  he  had  not  thrown  it  oft 
himself;  she  had  caught  hold  of  its  tail,  however,  whilt 
it  yet  hung  upon  his  honoured  shoulders.  To  souls  so 
congenial  what  a  sight  was  the  magnificent  ruin  of 
Bolsover !  its  broken  arches,  its  mouldering  pinnacles, 
And  the  airy  tracery  of  its  half-demolished  windows. 
The  party  wei  e  in  raptures ;  Mr.  Simpkinson  began  tc 


OF    TAPPINGTON.  2'J 

meditate  an  essay,  and  his  daughter  an  ode  ;  eve>  Sea- 
forth,  as  he  gazed  on  these  lonely  relics  of  the  oldeL 
time,  was  betrayed  into  a  momentary  forgetfulness  of 
his  love  and  losses :  the  widow's  eye-glass  turned  from 
lier  ciciahed's  whiskers  to  the  mantling  ivy  :  Mrs.  Peters 
wiped  her  spectacles  ;  and  "  her  P."  supposed  the  cen- 
tral tower  "  had  once  been  the  county  Jail."  The  squire 
was  a  philosopher,  and  had  been  there  often  before  ;  so 
he  ordered  out  the  cold  tongue  and  chickens. 

"  Bolsover  Priory,"  said  Mr.  Simpkinson,  with  the  aii 
of  a  connoisseur — "  Bolsover  Priory  was  founded  in  the 
reign  of  Henry  the  Sixth,  about  the  be^'  aing  of  the 
eleventh  century.  Hugh  de  Bolsover  haa  ^.companied 
that  monarch  to  the  Holy  Land,  in  the  expedition  under- 
taken by  way  of  penance  for  the  murder  of  his  young 
nephews  in  the  Tower.  Upon  the  dissolution  of  the 
monasteries,  the  veteran  was  enfeoffed  in  the  lands  and 
manor,  to  which  he  gave  his  own  name  of  Bowlsover,  or 
Bee-owls-over,  (by  corruption  Bolsover,) — a  Bee  in  chief, 
over  three  Owls,  all  proper,  being  the  armorial  ensigns 
borne  by  this  distinguished  crusader  at  the  siege  of  Acre." 

"  Ah  !  that  was  Sir  Sidney  Smith,"  said  Mr.  Peters ; 
*•  xVe  heard  tell  of  him,  and  all  about  Mrs.  Partington, 
and—" 

"P.  be  quiet,  and  don't  expose  yourself!"  sharply 
interrupted  his  lady.  P.  was  silenced,  and  betook 
himself  to  the  bottled  stout. 

"  These  lands,"  continued  the  antiquary,  "  were  held 
JQ  grand  serjeantry  by  the  presentation  of  three  white 
Dwls  and  a  pot  of  honey — " 

"  Lassy  me  !  how  nice  1"  said  Miss  Julia.  Mr.  Peterr 
^cked  his  lips. 


J 


28  THE    SPECTRE 

"Pray  give  me  leave,  my  dear — owls  and  honey 
whenever  the  king  should  come  a  rat-catching  into  this 
part  of  the  country." 

"  Rat^catching  !"  ejaculated  the  squire,  pausing  ab- 
ruptly in  the  mastication  of  a  drumstick. 

"  To  be  sure,  my  dear  sir :  don't  you  remember  that 
rats  once  came  under  the  forest  laws — a  minor  species 
of  venison  ?  '  Rats  and  mice,  and  such  small  deer,'  eh  ? 
— Shakspeare,  you  know.  Our  ancestors  ate  rats ;  ("  The 
nasty  fellows !"  shuddered  Miss  Julia  in  a  parenthesis) 
"  and  owls,  you  know,  are  capital  mousers " 

"  I've  seen  a  howl,"  said  Mr.  Peters ;  "  there's  one  in 
the  Sohological  Gardens, — a  little  hook-nosed  chap  in  a 
wig, — only  its  feathers  and " 

Poor  P.  was  destined  never  to  finish  a  speech. 

"  Do  be  quiet !"  cried  the  authoritative  voice,  and  the 
would-be  naturalist  shrank  into  his  shell  like  a  snail  in 
the  "  Sohological  Gardens." 

"  You  should  read  Blount's  '  Jocular  Tenures,'  Mr. 
Ingoldsby,"  pursued  Simpkinson.  "  A  learned  man  was 
Blount !  "Why,  sir,  his  Royal  Highness  the  Duke  of 
York  once  paid  a  silver  horse-shoe  to  Lord  Ferrers " 

"  I've  heard  of  him,"  broke  m  the  incorrigible  Peters ; 
"  he  was  hanged  at  the  Old  Bailey  in  a  silk  rope  for 
shooting  Dr.  Johnson." 

The  antiquary  vouchsafed  no  notice  of  the  interrup- 
tion; but,  taking  a  pinch  of  snufi^,  continued  his 
harangue. 

"A  silver  horse-shoe,  sir,  which  is  due  from  every 
ficion  of  royalty  who  rides  across  one  of  his  manors; 
and  if  you  look  into  the  penny  county  histories,  now 
publishing  by  an  eminent  friend  of  mine,  you  will  find 


OF    TAPPINGTON.  29 

that  Langhale  in  Co.  Norf.  was  held  by  one  Baldwin 
per  salium^  sufflatuin,  et  pettum  ;  that  is,  he  was  to  coma 
every  Christmas  into  Westminster  Hall,  there  to  take  a 
leap,  cry  hem !  and " 

"  Mr.  Simpkinson,  a  glass  of  sherry  ?"  cried  Tom 
Ingoldsby,  hastily. 

"  Not  any,  thank  you,  sir.  This  Baldwin,  surnamed 
Le " 

"  Mrs.  Ogleton  challenges  you,  sir ;  she  insists  upon 
it,"  said  Tom  still  more  rapidly ;  at  the  same  time  filling 
a  glass,  and  forcing  it  on  the  spavant,  who,  thus  arrested 
in  the  very  crisis  of  his  narrative,  received  and  swallowed 
the  potation  as  if  it  had  been  physic. 

"What  on  earth  has  Miss  Simpkinson  discovered 
there  ?"  continued  Tom  ;  "  something  of  interest.  See 
how  fast  she  is  writing." 

The  diversion  was  effectual ;  every  one  looked  towards 
Miss  Simpkinson,  who,  far  too  ethereal  for  "  creature 
comforts,"  was  seated  apart  on  the  dilapidated  remains 
of  an  altar-tomb,  committing  eagerly  to  paper  something 
that  had  strongly  impressed  her :  the  air, — the  eye  "  in 
a  fine  frenzy  rolling," — all  betokened  that  the  divine 
afflatus  was  come.  Her  father  rose,  and  stole  silently 
towards  her. 

"  What  z'a  old  boar !"  muttered  young  Ingoldsby ; 
alluding,  perhaps,  to  a  slice  of  brawn  which  he  had  just 
begun  to  operate  upon,  but  which,  from  the  celerity  with 
which  it  disappeared,  did  not  seem  so  very  difficult  of 
mastication. 

But  what  had  become  of  Seaforth  and  his  fair  Caro- 
line all  this  while  ?  Why,  it  so  happened  that  they  had 
been    simultaneously    stricken    with    the    picturesque 


30  THE    SPECTRE 

appearance  of  one  of  those  high  and  pointed  arches, 
which  that  eminent  antiquary,  Mr.  Horsley  Curties,  has 
described  in  his  "  Ancient  Records"  as  "  a  Gothic  window 
of  the  Saxon  order ;" — and  then  the  ivy  clustered  so 
thickly  and  so  beautifully  on  the  other  side,  that  they 
went  round  to  look  at  that ; — and  then  their  proximity 
deprived  it  of  half  its  effect,  and  so  they  walked  across 
to  a  little  knoll,  a  hundred  yards  off,  and  in  crossing 
a  small  ravine,  they  came  to  what  in  Ireland  they  call 
"a  bad  step,"  and  Charles  had  to  carry  his  cousin  over 
it ; — and  then,  when  they  had  to  come  back,  she  would 
not  give  him  the  trouble  again  for  the  world,  so  they 
followed  a  better  but  more  circuitous  route,  and  there 
were  hedges  and  ditches  in  the  way,  and  stiles  to  get 
over,  and  gates  to  get  through  ;  so  that  an  hour  or  more 
had  elapsed  before  they  were  able  to  rejoin  the  party. 

"  Lassy  me  !"  said  Miss  Julia  Simpkinson,  "  how  long 
you  have  been  gone  !" 

And  so  they  had.  The  remark  was  a  very  just  as 
well  as  a  very  natural  one.  They  were  gone  a  long 
while,  and  a  nice  cosey  chat  they  had  ;  and  what  do  you 
think  it  was  all  about,  my  dear  miss  ? " 

"  0,  lassy  me  !  love,  no  doubt,  and  the  moon,  and  eyes, 
and  nightingales,  and " 

Stay,  stay,  my  sweet  young  lady ;  do  not  let  the 
fervour  of  your  feelings  run  away  with  you  !  I  do  not 
pretend  to  say,  indeed,  that  one  or  more  of  these  pretty 
subjects  might  not  have  been  introduced  ;  but  the  most 
important  and  leading  topic  of  the  conference  was — 
Lieutenant  Seafortli's  breeches. 

"  Caroline,"  said  Charl  is,  "  I  have  had  some  very  odd 
dreams  since  T  have  been  at  Tappington." 


OF    TAPPINGTON.  31 

"  Drep^ms,  have  you  ?"  smiled  the  young  lady,  arch- 
ing her  taper  neck  like  a  swan  in  pluming.  "  Dreams, 
have  you  ?" 

"  Ay,  dreams, — or  dream,  perhaps,  I  should  say ;  for, 
though  repeated,  it  was  still  the  same.  And  what  do 
you  imagine  was  its  subject  ?" 

"  It  is  impossible  for  me  to  divine,"  said  the  tongue  ; 
— "  I  have  not  the  least  difficulty  in  guessing,"  said 
the  eye  as  plainly  as  ever  eye  spoke. 

"  T  dreamt — of  your  great  grandfather !" 

There  was  a  change  in  the  glance — "My  great 
grandfather  1" 

"  Yes,  the  old  Sir  Giles,  or  Sir  John,  you  told  me 
about  the  other  day  :  he  walked  into  my  bedroom  in 
his  short  cloak  of  murrey-coloured  velvet,  his  long 
rapier,  and  his  Raleigh-looking  hat  and  feather,  just 
as  the  picture  represents  him  ;  but  with  one  excej)- 
tion." 

"  And  what  was  that  ?" 

"  Why  his  lower  extremities,  which  were  visible, 
were — those  of  a  skeleton." 

"  Well." 

"  Well,  after  taking  a  turn  or  two  about  the  room, 
and  looking  round  him  with  a  wistful  air,  he  came  to 
the  bed's  foot,  stared  at  me  in  a  manner  impossible  to 
describe, — and  then  he — he  laid  hold  of  my  panta- 
loons; whipped  his  long  bony  legs  into  them  in  a 
twinkling;  and,  strutting  up  to  the  glass,  seemed  to 
view  himself  in  it  with  gi-eat  complacency.  I  tried 
to  speak,  but  in  vain.  The  effort,  however,  seemed  tc 
excite  his  attention  ;  for,  wheeimg  about,  he  showed 
me  the  grimmest-looking  death's  head  you  can   well 


82  THE    SPECTRE 

imagine,  and  with  an  indescribable  grin  strutted  out  of 
the  room." 

"  Absurd !  Charles.  How  can  you  talk  such  non- 
sense ?" 

"  But,  Caroline, — the  breeches  are  really  gone." 
***** 

On  the  following  morning,  contrary  to  his  usual 
custom,  Seaforth  was  the  first  person  in  the  break- 
fast parlour.  As  no  one  else  was  present,  he  did 
precisely  what  nine  young  men  out  of  ten  so  situated 
would  have  done ;  he  walked  up  to  the  mantel-piece, 
established  himself  upon  the  rug,  and  subducting  his 
coat-tails  one  under  each  arm,  turned  towards  the  fire 
that  portion  of  the  human  frame  which  it  is  con- 
sidered equally  indecorous  to  present  to  a  friend  or 
an  enemy.  A  serious,  not  to  say  anxious,  expression 
was  visible  upon  his  good-humoured  countenance,  and 
his  mouth  was  fast  buttoning  itself  up  for  an  incipient 
whistle,  when  little  Flo,  a  tiny  spaniel  of  the  Blenheim 
breed, — the  pet  object  of  Miss  Julia  Simpkinson's  affec- 
tions,— bounced  out  from  beneath  a  sofa,  and  began  to 
bark  at — his  pantaloons. 

They  were  cleverly  "  built,"  of  a  light  grey  mixture, 
a  broad  stripe  of  the  most  vivid  scarlet  traversing  each 
seam  in  a  perpendicular  direction  from  hip  to  ankle, — 
in  short,  the  regimental  costume  of  the  Royal  Bombay 
Fencibles.  The  animal,  educated  in  the  country,  had 
never  seen  such  a  pair  of  breeches  in  her  fife — Omne 
ignotumpro  magnijico  !  The  scarlet  streak,  inflamed  as 
it  was  by  the  reflection  of  the  fire,  seemed  to  act  on 
Flora's  nerves  as  the  same  colour  does  on  those  of  bulls 
and  turkeys  ;  she  advanced  at  ih^pas  de  charge,  and  her 


OF    TAPPINGTON.  3w 

vociferation,  like  her  amazement,  ^'as  unboimded.  A 
sound  kick  from  the  disgusted  officer  changed  its  cha- 
racter, and  induced  a  retreat  at  the  very  moment  when 
the  mistress  of  the  pugnacious  quadruped  entered  to 
the  rescue. 

"Lassy  me!  Flo!  what  is  the  matter?"  cried  the 
sympathising  lady,  with  a  scrutinizing  glance  levelled 
at  the  gentleman. 

It  might  as  well  have  lighted  on  a  feather  bed. — 
His  air  of  imperturbable  unconsciousness  defied  ex- 
amination ;  and  as  he  would  not,  and  Flora  could  not, 
expound,  that  injured  individual  was  compelled  to 
pocket  up  her  wrongs.  Others  of  the  household  soon 
dropped  in,  and  cliistered  round  the  board  dedicated 
to  the  most  sociable  of  meals;  the  urn  was  paraded 
"hissing  hot,"  and  the  cups  which  "cheer,  but  not 
inebriate,"  steamed  redolent  of  hyson  and  peko« ; 
muffins  and  marmalade,  newspapers  and  Finnan  bad- 
dies, left  little  room  for  observation  on  the  character 
of  Charles's  warlike  "  turn-out."  At  length  a  look 
from  Caroline,  followed  by  a  smile  that  nearly  ripened 
to  a  titter,  caused  him  to  turn  abruptly  and  address 
nis  neighbour.  It  was  Miss  Simpkinson,  who,  deeply 
engaged  in  sipping  her  tea  and  turning  over  her  album, 
seemed,  like  a  female  Chronohotonthologos,  "  immersed 
in  cogibundity  of  cogitation."  An  interrogatory  on  the 
subject  of  her  studies  drew  from  her  the  confession  that 
she  was  at  that  moment  employed  in  putting  the  finish- 
ing touches  to  a  poem  inspiied  by  the  romantic  shades 
of  Bolsover.  The  entreaties  of  the  comyany  were  of 
course  urgent.  Mr.  Peters,  "who  liked  verses,"  was 
especially  persevering,  and  Sappho  at  length  compliant 
2* 


34  THE    SPECTRE 

After  a  preparatory  hem !  and  a  glance  at  the  mirroj 
to  ascertain  that  her  look  was  sufficiently  sentimental 
the  poetess  began : — 


"  There  is  a  calm,  a  holy  feeling, 

Vulg-ar  minds  can  never  know, 

O'er  the  bosom  softly  stealing,- - 

Chasten'd  grief,  delicious  woe  ! 

Oh  I  how  sweet  at  eve  regaining 

Yon  lone  tower's  sequester'd  shade- 
Sadly  mute  and  uncomplaining " 


— Yow  ! — yeongh ! — yeough  ! — yow  ! — yow  !  yelled  a 
hapless  sufferer  from  beneath  the  table. — It  was  an 
unlucky  hour  for  quadrupeds  ;  and  if  "  every  dog  will 
have  his  day,"  he  could  not  have  selected  a  more  unpro- 
pitious  one  than  this.  Mrs.  Ogleton,  too,  had  a  pet, — a 
favourite  pug, — whose  squab  figure,  black  muzzle,  and 
tortuosity  of  tail,  that  curled  like  a  head  of  celery  in  a 
salad-bowl,  bespoke  his  Dutch  extraction.  Yow  ! 
yow !  yow !  continued  the  brute, — a  chorus  in  which 
Flo  instantly  joined.  Sooth  to  say,  pug  had  more 
reason  to  express  his  dissatisfaction  than  was  given  him 
by  the  muse  of  Simpkinson  ;  the  other  only  barked  for 
company.  Scarcely  had  the  poetess  got  through  her 
first  stanza,  when  Tom  Ingoldsby,  in  the  enthusiasm 
of  the  moment,  became  so  lost  to  the  material  world, 
that,  in  his  abstraction,  he  unwarily  laid  his  hand  on 
the  cock  of  the  urn.  Quivering  with  emotion,  he  gave 
it  such  an  unlucky  twist,  that  the  full  stream  of  its 
scalding  contents  descended  on  the  gingerbread  hide 
Df  the  unlucky  Cupid. — The  confusion  was  complete ; 
— the  whole  economy  of  the  table  disarranged; — the 
?ompany   broke   up  in   most  admired   disorder ; — anJ 


OF    TAPPINGTON,  35 

"Vulgar  minds  will  never  know''  anytli'ng  more  of 
Miss  Simpkinson's  ode  till  they  peruse  it  in  some 
forthcoming  Annual. 

Seaforth  profited  by  the  confusion  to  take  the  delin- 
quent who  had  caused  this  "  stramash  "  by  the  arm,  and 
to  lead  him  to  the  lawn,  where  he  had  a  word  or  two 
foi  his  private  ear.  The  conference  between  the  young 
geutlemen  was  neither  brief  in  its  duration  nor  unim- 
portant in  its  result.  The  subject  was  what  the  lawyers 
call  tripartite,  embracing  the  information  that  Charles 
Seaforth  was  over  head  and  ears  in  love  with  Tom 
Ingoldsby's  sister ;  secondly,  that  the  lady  had  referred 
Lim  to  "  papa  "  for  his  sanction ;  thirdly,  and  lastly,  his 
nightly  visitations,  and  consequent  bereavement.  At 
the  two  first  items  Tom  smiled  auspiciously ; — at  the 
last  he  bui-st  out  into  an  absolute  "  guffaw." 

"  Steal  your  breeches  ! — Miss  Bailey  over  again,  by 
Jove,"  shouted  Ingoldsby.  "  But  a  gentleman,  you  say, 
— and  Sir  Giles  too. — I  am  not  sure,  Charles,  whether 
I  ought  not  to  call  you  out  for  aspersing  the  honour  of 
the  family ! " 

"Laugh  as  you  will,  Tom, — be  as  incredulous  as 
/ou  please.  One  fact  is  incontestable, — the  breeches 
are  gone!  Look  here — I  am  reduced  to  my  regi- 
mentals ;  and  if  these  go,  to-morrow  I  must  borrow  of 
y  )u  ! " 

Rochefoucault  says,  there  is  something  in  the  misfor- 
tunes of  our  very  best  friends  that  does  not  displease  us; 
— assuredly  we  can,  most  of  us,  laugh  at  their  peuy 
inconveniences,  till  called  upon  to  supply  them.  Tom 
composed  his  features  on  the  instant,  and  replied  with 
more  gravity,  as  well  as  with  an  expletive,  which,  if  mv 


36  THE    SPECTRE 

Lord  Mayor  had  been  witliin  hearing,  might  have  cost 
him  five  shillings. 

"  There  is  something  very  queer  in  this,  after  all.  The 
clothes,  you  say,  have  positively  disappeared.  Some- 
body is  playing  you  a  trick  ;  and,  ten  to  one,  your  ser- 
vant has  a  hand  in  it.  By  the  way,  I  heard  something 
yesterday  of  his  kicking  up  a  bobbery  in  the  kitchen, 
and  seeing  a  ghost,  or  something  of  that  kind,  himself. 
Depend  upon  it,  Barney  is  m  the  plot!" 

It  now  struck  the  Lieutenant  at  once,  that  the  usually 
buoyant  spirits  of  his  attendant  had  of  late  been  mate- 
rially sobered  down,  his  loquacity  obviously  circum- 
scribed, and  that  he,  the  said  Lieutenant,  had  actually 
rung  his  bell  three  several  times  that  very  morning 
before  he  could  procure  his  attendance.  Mr.  Maguire 
was  forthwith  summoned,  and  underwent  a  close  exami- 
nation. The  "bobbery"  was  easily  explained.  Mr. 
Ohver  Dobbs  had  hinted  his  disapprobation  of  a  flirta- 
tion carrying  on  between  the  gentleman  from  Munster 
and  the  lady  from  the  Rue  St.  Hon  ore.  Mademoiselle 
had  boxed  Mr.  Maguire's  ears,  and  Mr.  Maguire  had 
pulled  Mademoiselle  upon  his  knee,  and  the  lady  had 
not  cried  Mon  Dieu  !  And  Mr.  OHver  Dobbs  said  it 
was  very  wrong ;  and  Mrs.  Botherby  said  it  was  "  scan- 
dalous," and  what  ought  not  to  be  done  in  any  moral 
kitchen ; — and  Mr.  Maguire  had  got  hold  of  the  Ho- 
nourable Augustus  Sucklethumbkin's  powder-flask,  and 
had  put  large  pinches  of  the  best  double  Dartford 
into  Mr.  Dobbs's  tobacco-box ; — and  Mr.  Dobbs's  pipe 
had  exploded,  and  set  fire  to  Mrs.  Botherby's  Sunday 
cap ; — and  Mr.  Maguire  had  put  it  out  with  the  slop- 
basin,  "  barring  the  wig ;" — and  then  they  were  all  so 


OF    TAPPINGTON.  3» 

•*  cantankerous,"  that  Barney  had  gone  to  take  a  wall 
in  the  garden  ;  and  then — then  Mr.  Barney  had  seen 
gliost ! ! 

"A  what  ?  you  blockhead  !  "  asked  Tom  Ingoldsby. 

"  Sure  then,  and  it's  meself  will  tell  your  honour  tha 
rights  of  it,"  said  the  Ghost-seer.  "  Meself  and  Miss 
Pauline,  sir, — or  Miss  Pauline  and  meself,  for  the  ?adie3 
come  firs',  anyhow, — \ve  got  tired  of  the  hobsfroppyloua 
skrimmaging  among  the  ould  jervants,  that  didn't  know 
a  joke  when  they  seen  one  :  and  we  went  out  to  look 
at  the  comet,  that's  the  rory-bory-alehouse,  they  calls 
him  in  this  country, — and  we  walked  upon  the  lawn, — 
and  divil  of  any  alehouse  there  was  there  at  all ;  and 
Miss  Pauline  said  it  was  because  of  the  shrubbery  may- 
be, and  why  wouldn't  we  see  it  better  beyonst  the  trees  ? 
■ — and  so  we  went  to  the  trees,  but  sorrow  a  comet  did 
meself  see  there,  barring  a  big  Ghost  instead  of  it." 

"A  ghost  ?     And  what  sort  of  a  ghost,  Barney  ?  " 

"  Och,  then,  divil  a  lie  Til  tell  your  honour.  A  tall 
ould  gentleman  he  was,  all  in  white,  with  a  shovel  on 
the  shoulder  of  him,  and  a  big  torch  in  his  fist, — though 
what  he  wanted  with  that  it's  meself  can't  tell,  for  his 
eyes  were  like  gig-lamps,  let  alone  the  moon  and  the 
comet,  which  wasn't  there  at  all ; — and  '  Barney,'  says 
he  to  me, — 'cause  why  he  knew  me, — '  Barney,'  says  he, 
'  what  is  it  you're  doing  with  the  colleen  there,  Barney  ? ' 
— Divil  a  word  did  I  say.  Miss  Pauline  screeched,  and 
cried  murther  in  French,  and  ran  ofi"  with  herself;  and 
of  course  meself  was  in  a  mighty  hurry  after  the  lady, 
and  had  no  time  to  stop  palavering  with  him  any  way; 
Bo  I  dispersed  at  once,  and  the  Ghost  vanished  in  >» 
flame  of  fire  1 " 


38  THE    SPECTRE 

Mr.  Miguir^'s  account  was  received  with  avowed 
incredulity  by  botli  gentlemen  ;  but  Barney  stuck  to  bis 
text  with  unflinching  pertinacity.  A  reference  to  Ma- 
demoiselle was  suggested,  but  abandoned,  as  neither 
party  had  a  taste  for  delicate  investigations. 

"  I'll  tell  you  what,  Seaforth,"  said  Ingoldsby,  after 
Barney  had  received  his  dismissal,  "  that  there  is  a  trick 
here,  is  evident ;  and  Barney's  vision  may  possibly  be 
a  part  of  it.  Whether  he  is  most  knave  or  fool,  you 
best  know.  At  all  events,  I  will  sit  up  with  you  to- 
night, and  see  if  I  can  convert  my  ancestor  into  a  visit- 
ing  acquaintance.      Meanwhile   your   finger   on   your 

lip!" 

*  %  %  *  % 

"'Twaa  n'tw  the  very  witching  time  of  night, 
When  churchyards  yawn,  and  graves  give  up  their  dead." 

Gladly  would  I  grace  my  tale  with  decent  horror,  and 
therefore  I  do  beseech  the  "  gentle  reader  "  to  believe, 
that  if  all  the  succedatua  to  this  mysterious  narrative 
are  not  in  strict  keeping,  he  will  ascribe  it  only  to  the 
disgraceful  innovations  of  modern  degeneracy  upon  the 
sober  and  dignified  habits  of  our  ancestors.  I  can 
introduce  him,  it  is  true,  into  an  old  and  high -roofed 
chai.ber,  its  walls  covered  on  three  sides  with  black  oalj 
wainscotting,  adorned  with  carvings  of  fruit  and  flowers 
long  anterior  to  those  of  Grinling  Gibbons  ;  the  fourth 
side  is  clothed  with  a  curious  remnant  of  dingy  tapestry, 
once  elucidatory  of  some  Scriptural  history,  but  ot 
which  not  even  Mrs,  Botherby  could  determine.  Mr. 
Simpkinson,  who  had  examined  it  carefully,  inclined  to 
believe  the  principal  figure  to  be  either  Bathsheba.  oi 
Daniel  in  the  lions'  den  ;  while  Tom  Ingoldsby  decided 


OF    TAPPINGTON.  39 

in  favour  of  the  King  of  Bashan.  All,  however,  was 
conjecture,  tradition  being  silent  on  the  subject. — A 
lofty  arched  portal  led  into,  and  a  little  arched  portal  led 
out  of,  this  apartment ;  they  were  opposite  each  other, 
and  each  possessed  the  security  of  massy  bolts  on  its 
interior.  The  bedstead,  too,  was  not  one  of  yesterday, 
but  manifestly  coeval  with  days  ere  Seddons  waif,  and 
when  a  good  four-post  "article"  was  deemed  worthy 
of  bemg  a  royal  bequest.  The  bed  itself,  with  all  the 
appurtenances  of  palliasse,  mattresses,  &c.,  was  of  far 
later  date,  and  looked  most  incongruously  comfortable  ; 
the  casements,  too,  with  their  little  diamond-shaped 
panes  and  iron  binding,  had  given  way  to  the  modern 
heterodoxy  of  the  sash-window.  Nor  was  this  all  that 
conspired  to  ruin  the  costume,  and  render  the  room  a 
meet  haunt  for  such  "  mixed  spirits  "  only  as  could  con- 
descend to  don  at  the. same  time  an  Elizabethan  doublet 
and  Bond-street  inexpressibles. 

With  their  green  morocco  slippers  on  a  modern 
fender,  m  front  of  a  disgracefully  modern  grate,  sat  two 
young  gentlemen,  clad  in  "  shawl-pattern "  dressing 
gowns  and  black  silk  stocks,  much  at  variance  with  the 
high,  cane-backed  chairs  w^hich  supported  them.  A 
bunch  of  abomination  called  a  cigar,  reeked  in  the  left- 
hand  corner  of  the  mouth  of  one,  and  in  the  right-hand 
corner  of  the  mouth  of  the  other ; — an  arrangement 
happily  adapted  for  the  escape  of  the  noxious  fumes  up 
tlie  chimney,  without  that  unmerciful  "  funking  "  each 
other,  which  a  less  scientific  disposition  of  the  w^eed 
would  have  induced.  A  small  pembroke  table  filled  up 
the  intervening  space  between  them,  sustaining,  at  each 
extremity,  an  elbow  and  a  glass  of  toddj  ; — thus  in 


40  THE    SPECTRE 

"  lonely  pensive  contemplation  "  were  the  two  worthiei 
occupied,  when  the  "  iron  ton^-ue  of  midnight  had  tolled 
twelve." 

"  Ghost-time's  come ! "  said  Ingoldsby,  taking  from 
nis  waistcoat  pocket  a  watch  like  a  gold  half-crown,  and 
consulting  it  as  though  he  suspected  the  turret-clock 
over  the  stables  of  mendacity. 

"  Hush  ! "  said  Charles  ;  "  did  I  not  hear  a  footstep  ?  " 

There  was  a  pause  : — there  was  a  footstep — it  sounded 
distinctly — it  reached  the  door — it  hesitated,  stopped, 
and — passed  on. 

Tom  darted  across  the  room,  threw  open  the  door, 
and  became  aware  of  Mrs.  Botherby  toddling  to  her 
chamber  at  the  other  end  of  the  gallery,  after  dosing 
one  of  the  housemaids  with  an  approved  julep  from  the 
Countess  of  Kent's  "  Choice  Manual." 

"  Good  night,  sir  I  "  said  Mrs.  Botherby. 

"  Go  to  the  d — 1 1 "  said  the  disappointed  ghost- 
hunter. 

An  hour — two — rolled  on,  and  still  no  spectral  visita- 
tion ;  nor  did  aught  intervene  to  make  night  hideous ; 
and  when  the  turret-clock  sounded  at  length  the  hour 
of  three,  Ingoldsby,  whose  patience  and  grog  were  alike 
exhausted,  sprang  from  his  chair,  saying — 

"  This  is  all  infernal  nonsense,  my  good  fellow.  Deuce 
of  any  ghost  shall  we  see  to-night ;  it's  long  past  the 
canonical  hour.  I'm  off  to  bed ;  and  as  to  your 
breeches,  I'il  insure  them  for  the  next  twenty-four  hours 
at  least,  at  the  price  of  the  buckram." 

"  Certainly. — Oh  !  thank'ee  ; — to  be  sure  !  "  stam- 
mered Charles,  rousing  himself  from  a  reverie,  ^vhich 
had  degenerated  into  an  absolute  snooze. 


OF    TAPPINGTON,  41 

"  Good  niglit,  my  boy  !  Bolt  the  door  behind  me  • 
and  defy  the  Pope,  the  Devil,  and  the  Pretender  ! — " 

Seaforth  followed  his  friend's  advice,  and  the  next 
morning  came  down  to  breakfast  dressed  in  the  habili- 
ments of  the  preceding  day.  The  charm  was  broken, 
the  demon  defeated  ;  the  light  greys  with  the  red  stripe 
down  the  seams  were  yet  in  rcrum  naturd,  and  adorned 
the  person  of  their  lawful  proprietor. 

Tom  felicitated  himself  and  his  partner  of  the  watch 
on  the  result  of  their  vigilance ;  but  there  is  a  rustic 
adage,  which  wp,rns  us  against  self-gratulation  before  we 
are  quite  "  out  of  the  wood." — Seaforth  was  yet  within 
its  verge. 

A  rap  at  Tom  Ingoldsby's  door  the  following  morn- 
ing startled  him  as  he  was  shaving  : — he  cut  his  chin. 

"  Come  in,  and  be  d — d  to  you  1 "  said  the  martyr, 
pressing  his  thumb  on  the  scarified  epidermis. — The 
door  opened,  and  exhibited  Mr.  Barney  Maguire. 

"  Well,  Barney,  what  is  it  ? "  quoth  the  sufferer, 
adopting  the  vernacular  of  his  visitant. 

"  The  master,  sir " 

"  Well,  what  does  he  want  ?  " 

"  The  loanst  of  a  breeches,  plase  your  honour." 

"  Why,  you  don't  mean  to  tell  me — By  Heaven,  this 
is  too  good  ! "  shouted  Tom,  bursting  into  a  fit  of  uncon- 
trollable laughter.  "  Why,  Barney,  you  don't  mean  to 
say  ':he  ghost  has  got  them  again  ?  " 

Mr.  Maguire  did  not  respond  to  the  young  squire's 
risibility;  the  cast  of  his  countenance  was  decidedly 
Bcrious. 

"  Faith,  then,  it's  gone  they  are,  sure  enough !   Hasn  \ 


42  THE    SPECTRE 

meself  been  looking  over  tlie  bed,  and  under  the  bed, 
and  in  tbe  bed,  for  the  matter  of  that,  and  di\Tl  a 
ha'p'orth  of  breeches  is  there  to  the  fore  at  all : — I'm 
bothered  entirely !  " 

"  Hark'ee !  Mr.  Barney,"  said  Tom,  incautiously 
removing  his  thumb,  and  letting  a  crimson  stream 
"  incarnadine  the  multitudinous "  lather  that  plastered 
his  throat, — "  this  may  be  all  very  well  with  your 
master,  but  you  don't  humbug  me,  sir  : — tell  me  in- 
stantly what  have  you  done  with  the  clothes  ?" 

This  abrupt  transition  from  "  lively  to  severe "  cer- 
tainly took  Maguire  by  surprise,  and  he  seemed  for 
an  instant  as  much  disconcerted  as  it  is  possible  to 
disconcert  an  Irish  gentleman's  gentleman. 

"  Me  ?  is  it  meself,  then,  that  's  the  Ghost  to  your 
honour's  thinking  ? "  said  he,  after  a  moment's  pause, 
and  with  a  slight  shade  of  indignation  in  his  tones: 
"  is  it  I  would  sta]e  the  master's  things, — and  what 
would  I  do  with  them  ? " 

"That  you  best  know: — what  your  purpose  is  I 
can't  guess,  for  I  don't  think  you  mean  to  'stale' 
them,  as  you  call  it ;  but  that  you  are  concerned  in 
their  disappearance,  I  am  satisfied.  Confound  this 
blood  ! — give  me  a  towel,  Barney." 

Maguire  acquitted  himself  of  the  commission. 
"As  I've  a  sowl,  your  honour,"  said  he  solemnly, 
"  little  it  is  meself  knows  of  the  matter  ;  and  after 
what  I  seen " 

"  What  you've  seen  ?  Why,  what  have  you  seen  1 
— Barney,  I  don't  want  to  inquire  into  your  flirtations; 
but  don't  suppose  you  can  palm  off  your  saucer  eye* 
and  gig-lamps  upon  me  !" 


OF    TAPPINGTON.  43 

"  Then,  as  sure  as  your  honour  's  standing  there  I 
BAW  him  :  and  why  wouldn't  I,  when  Miss  Pauline  was 
to  the  fore  as  well  as  meself,  and " 

"  Get  along  with  your  nonsense, — leave  the  room, 
sir!" 

"  But  the  master  ?  "  said  Barney,  imploringly  ;  "  and 
without  a  breeches  ? — sure  he'll  be  catching  cowld  ! — '* 

"  Take  that,  rascal  ! "  replied  Ingoldsby,  throwing 
a  pair  of  pantaloons  at,  rather  than  to,  him ;  "  but 
don't  suppose,  sir,  you  shall  carry  on  your  tricks 
here  with  impunity  ;  recollect  there  is  such  a  thing 
as  a  treadmill,  and  that  my  father  is  a  county  magis- 
trate." 

Barney's  eye  flashed  fire, — he  stood  erect,  and  was 
about  to  speak  ;  but,  mastering  himself,  not  without 
an  efibrt,  he  took  up  the  garment,  and  left  the  room 
as  perpendicular  as  a  Quaker. 

***** 

"  Ingoldsby,"  said  Charles  Seaforth,  after  breakfast, 
"  this  is  now  past  a  joke  ;  to-day  is  the  last  of  my  stay  ; 
for,  notwithstanding  the  ties  which  detain  me,  common 
decency  obliges  me  to  visit  home  after  so  long  an 
absence.  I  shall  come  to  an  immediate  explanation 
with  your  father  on  the  subject  nearest  ray  heart,  and 
depart  while  I  have  a  change  of  dress  left.  On  his 
answer  will  my  return  depend  !  in  the  meantime  tell 
me  candidly, — I  ask  it  in  all  seriousness,  and  as  a 
friend, — am  I  not  a  dupe  to  your  well-known  propen- 
sity to  hoaxing  ?  have  you  not  a  hand  in " 

"  No,  by  Heaven  !  Seaforth  ;  I  see  what  you  mean  : 
on  my  honour,  I  am  as  mu^li  m3'stified  as  yourself ;  and 
If  your  servant " 


44  THE    SPEOTRE 

"  Not  he : — if  there  be  a  trick,  he  at  least  is  noi 
privy  to  it." 

"  If  there  be  a  trick  ?  Why,  Charles,  do  you 
think " 

"  I  know  not  what  to  think,  Tom.  As  surely  as  you 
are  a  living  man,  so  surely  did  that  spectral  anatomy 
visit  my  room  again  last  night,  grin  in  my  face,  and 
walk  away  with  my  trousers  ;  nor  was  I  able  to  spring 
from  my  bed,  or  break  the  chain  which  seemed  to  bind 
me  to  my  pillow." 

"Seaforth!"  said  Ingoldsby,  after  a  short  pause, 
"  I  will — but  hush  !  here  are  the  girls  and  my 
father. — I  wid  carry  off  the  females,  and  leave  you  a 
clear  field  with  the  Governor  :  carry  your  point  with 
him,  and  we  will  talk  about  your  breeches  after- 
wards." 

Tom's  diversion  was  successful ;  he  carried  oft'  the 
ladies  en  masse  to  look  at  a  remarkable  specimen  of 
the  class  Dodecandria  Monogyala, — which  they  could 
not  find  ; — while  Seaforth  marched  boldly  up  to  the 
encounter, "  and  carried  "  the  Governor's  "  outworks 
by  a  coup  de  main.  I  shall  not  stop  to  describe  the 
progress  of  the  attack  ;  suffice  it  that  it  was  as  success- 
ful as  could  have  been  wished,  and  that  Seaforth  was 
referred  back  again  to  the  lady.  The  happy  lover  was 
off  at  a  tangent ;  the  botanical  party  was  soon  over- 
taken ;  and  the  arm  of  Caroline,  whom  a  vain  endea- 
vour to  spell  out  the  Linnsean  name  of  a  dafFy-dovvn- 
dilly  had  detained  a  little  in  the  rear  of  the  others,  y?fli 
Boon  firmly  looked  in  his  own. 

"  What  was  the  world  to  them, 
Its  noise,  its  nonsense,  and  its  '  breeches'  alj  ^'' 


OF   TAPPINGTON.  4d 

Seaforth  was  in  the  seventh  heaven  ;  he  retirea  to 
hia  room  that  night  as  happy  as  if  no  such  thing  as  a 
goblin  had  ever  been  heard  of,  and  personal  chattels 
were  as  well  fenced  in  by  law  as  real  property.  Not 
so  I'om  Ingoldsby  :  the  mystery — for  mystery  there 
evidently  was, — had  not  only  piqued  his  curiosity, 
but  luffled  his  temper.  The  watch  of  the  previous 
night  had  been  unsuccessful,  probably  because  it  was 
•mdisguised.  To-night  he  would  "ensconce  himself," 
— not  indeed  "  behind  the  arras," — for  the  little  that 
remained  was,  as  we  have  seen,  nailed  to  the  wall, — 
but  in  »  small  closet  which  opened  from  one  corner 
of  the  loom,  and,  by  leaving  the  door  ajar,  would  give 
to  its  Occupant  a  view  of  all  that  might  pass  in  the 
apartment.  Here  did  the  young  Ghost-hunter  take 
up  a  position,  with  a  good  stout  sapling  under  his 
arm,  a  fUii  half-hour  before  Seaforth  retired  for  the 
night.  Not  even  his  friend  did  he  let  into  his  con- 
fidence, fuliy  determined  that  if  his  plan  did  not 
succeed,  the  failure  should  be  attributed  to  himself 
alone. 

At  the  usual  hour  of  separation  for  the  night,  Tom 
saw,  from  his  concealment,  the  Lieutenant  enter  his 
room,  and,  after  taking  a  few  turns  in  it,  with  an 
expression  so  joyous  as  to  betoken  that  his  thoughts 
were  mainly  occupied  by  his  approaching  happiness, 
proceed  slowly  to  disrobe  himself.  The  coat,  the 
waistcoat,  the  black  silk  stock,  were  gradually  dis- 
carded ;  the  gi'een  morocco  slippers  were  kicked  off, 
and  then — ay,  and  then  —  his  countenance  grew 
grave ;  it  seemed  to  occur  to  him  all  at  once  that  this 
was  his  last  stake, — nay,  that  the  very  breeches  hf 


46  THE    SPECTRE 

had  on  were  not  his  own, — that  to-moriow  morning 

was  his  last,  and  that  if  he  lost  them A  glance 

showed  that  his  mind  was  made  up ;  he  replaced  the 
single  button  he  had  just  subducted,  and  threw  him- 
self upon  the  bed  in  a  state  of  transition, — half 
chrysalis,  half-grub. 

Wearily  did  Tom  Ingoldsby  watch  the  sleeper  by  the 
flickering  light  of  the  night-lamp,  till  the  clock,  striking 
one,  induced  him  to  increase  the  narrow  opening  which 
he  had  left  for  the  purpose  of  observation.  The  motion, 
slight  as  it  was,  seemed  to  attract  Charles's  attention ; 
for  he  raised  himself  suddenly  to  a  sitting  posture, 
listened  for  a  moment,  and  then  stood  upright  upon  the 
floor.  Ingoldsby  was  on  the  point  of  discovering  him- 
self, when,  the  light  flashing  full  upon  his  friend's 
countenance,  he  perceived  that,  though  his  eyes  were 
open,  "  their  sense  was  shut," — that  he  was  yet  under 
the  influence  of  sleep.  Seaforth  advanced  slowly  to  the 
toilet,  lit  his  candle  at  the  lamp  that  stood  on  it,  then, 
going  back  to  the  bed's  foot,  appeared  to  search  eagerly 
for  something  which  he  could  not  find.  For  a  few  mo- 
ments he  seemed  restless  and  uneasy,  walking  round  the 
apartment  and  examining  the  chairs,  till,  coming  fully 
in  front  of  a  large  swing-glass  that  flanked  the  dressing- 
table,  he  paused,  as  if  contemplating  his  figure  in  it. 
He  now  returned  towards  the  bed ;  put  on  his  slippers, 
and,  with  cautious  and  stealthy  steps,  proceeded  towards 
the  little  arched  doorway  that  opened  on  the  private 
staircase. 

As  he  drew  the  bolt,  Tom  Ingoldsby  emerged  from 
his  hiding-place ;  but  the  sleep-walker  heard  him  not, 
he  proceeded  softly  down  stairs,  followed  at  a  due  di? 


OF    TAPPINGTON.  47 

tance  by  his  friend;  opened  the  door  wlirch  led  out 
upon  the  gardens ;  and  stood  at  once  among  the  thick- 
est of  the  shrubs,  which  there  clustered  round  the  base 
of  a  corner  turret,  and  screened  the  postern  from  com- 
mon observation.  At  this  moment  Ingoldsby  had  nearly 
spoiled  all  by  making  a  false  etep  :  the  sound  attracted 
Seaforth's  attention, — he  paused  and  turned;  and,  as 
the  full  moon  shed  her  light  directly  upon  his  pale  and 
troubled  features,  Tom  marked,  almost  with  dismay,  the 
fixed  and  rayless  appearance  of  his  eyes : — 

"  There  was  no  speculation  in  those  orbs 
That  he  did  glare  withal." 

The  perfect  stillness  preserved  by  his  follower  seemed  to 
"eassure  him ;  he  turned  aside ;  and  from  the  midst  of 
a  thickset  laurustinus,  drew  forth  a  gardener's  spade, 
shouldering  which  he  proceeded  with  greater  rapidity 
mto  the  midst  of  the  shrubbery.  Arrived  at  a  certain 
point  where  t)  e  earth  seemed  to  have  been  recently  dis- 
turbed, he  set  himself  heartily  to  the  task  of  digging, 
till,  having  thrown  up  several  shovelfuls  of  mould,  he 
stopped,  flung  down  his  tool,  and  very  composedly  began 
to  disencumber  himself  of  his  pantaloons. 

Up  to  this  moment  Tom  had  watched  him  with  a 
wary  eye ;  he  now  advanced  cautiously,  and,  as  his 
friend  was  busily  engaged  in  disentangling  himself  from 
his  garment,  made  himself  master  of  the  spade.  Sea- 
forth,  meanwhile,  had  accomphshed  his  purpose:  hj 
stood  for  a  moment  with 

"  His  streamers  waving  in  the  wind,** 

occupied  in  carefully  rolling  up  the  small-clothes  intx)  as 


48  THE    SPECTRK 

compact  a  form  as  possible,  and  all  heedless  of  the 

breath  of  heaven,  which  might  certainly  be  supposed, 

at  such  a  moment,  and  in  such  a  plight,  to  "  visit  his 

frame  too  roughly." 

— He  was  in  the  act  of  stooping  low  to  deposit  the 

pantaloons  in  the  grave  which  he  had  been  digging  for 

them,  when  Tom  Ingoldsby  came  close  behind  him,  and 

with  the  flat  side  of  the  spade 

*  *  *  ^  * 

The  shock  was  effectual; — never  again  was  Lieu- 
tenant Seaforth  known  to  act  the  part  of  a  somnam- 
bulist. One  by  one,  his  breeches, — his  trousers, — his 
pantaloons, — his  silk-net  tights, — his  patent  cords, — his 
showy  greys  with  the  broad  red  stripe  of  the  Bombay 
Fencibles,  were  brought  to  light, — rescued  from  the 
grave  in  which  they  had  been  buried  like  the  strata  of 
a  Christmas  pie ;  and,  after  having  been  well  aired  by 
Mrs.  Botherby,  became  once  again  eff'ective. 

The  family,  the  ladies  especially,  i  mghed ; — the 
Peterses  laughed  ; — the  Simpkinsons  laughed ; — Barney 
Maguire  cried  "  Botheration  !  "  and  Ma'mselle  Pauline^ 

Charles  Seaforth,  unable  to  face  the  quizzing  which 
awaited  him  on  all  sides,  started  off  two  hours  earlier 
than  he  had  proposed  : — he  soon  returned,  however 
and  having,  at  his  father-in-law's  request,  given  up  the 
occupation  of  Rajah-hunting  and  shooting  nabobs,  led 
his  blushing  bride  to  the  altar. 

Mr.  Simpkinson  from  Bath  did  not  attend  the  cere- 
mony, being  engaged  at  the  Grand  Junction  Meeting  of 
Scavans,  then  congregating  from  all  parts  of  the  known 
world  in  the  city  of  Dublin.     His  essay,  demvmstrating 


OF    TAPPINGTON.  49    ! 

that  the  globe  is  a  great  custard,  whipped  into  coagula- 
tion by  whirlwinds,  and  cooked  by  electricity, — a  little 
too  much  baked  in  the  Isle  of  Portland,  and  a  thought 
underdone  about  the  Bog  of  Allan, — was  highly  spoken 
of,  and  narrowly  escaped  obtaining  a  Bridgewater 
prize. 

Miss  Simpkinson  and  her  sister  acted  as  brides- 
maids on  the  occasion ;  the  former  wrote  an  epithala- 
num,  and  the  latter  cried  "Lassy  me  1"  at  the  clergy- 
man's wig.  Some  yeai's  have  since  rolled  on ;  the 
union  has  been  crowned  with  two  or  three  tidy  little  off- 
shoots from  the  family  tree,  of  whom  Master  Neddy  is 
"  grand-papa's  darling,"  and  Mary- Anne  mamma's  par- 
ticular "  Sock."  I  shall  only  add,  that  Mr.  and  Mrs. 
Seaforth  are  li\nng  together  quite  as  happily  as  two 
good-hearted,  good-tempered  bodies,  very  fond  of  each 
other,  can  possibly  do :  and  that,  since  the  day  of  his 
marriage,  Charles  has  shown  no  disposition  to  jump  out 
of  bed,  or  ramble  out  of  doors  o'  nights, — though,  from 
his  entire  devotion  to  every  wish  and  whim  of  his  young 
wife,  Tom  insinuates  that  the  fair  Caroline  does  still 
occasionally  take  advantage  of  it  so  far  as  to  "  slip  on 
the  Breeches." 


It  was  not  till  some  years  after  the  events  just  recorded, 
that  Miss  Mary-x\nne,  the  "  Pet  Sock  "  before  alluded 
to,  was  made  acquainted  with  the  following  piece  of 
family  biography.  It  was  communicated  to  her  in  strict 
confidence  by  Nurse  Botherby,  a  maiden  niece  of  the 
old  lady's,  tlien  recently  promoted  from  the  ranks  in  the 

FIRST    SERIES.  8 


50  THE  SPECTRE  OF  TAPriNGTON. 

still-room  to  be  second  in  command  in  the  Nursery 
department. 

The  story  is  connected  with  a  dingy  wizen-faced  por 
trait  in  an  oval  frame,  generally  known  by  the  name  of 
"  Uncle  Stephen,"  though  from  the  style  of  his  cut-velvet 
it  is  evident  that  some  generations  must  have  passed 
away  since  any  living  being  could  have  sV:>04i  Vi# wards 
him  in  that  degree  of  consanguinity. 


THE    NURSE'S    STORY. 


THE  HAND  OF  GLORY. 

••Malefica  quaedam  auguriatrix  in  Anglia  fuit,  quam  demooes  horribilitet 
•ztraxeiunt,  et  imponentes  super  equum  terribilem,  per  aera  rapuer ur.t . 
CUmoresque  terribiles  (ut  ferunt)  per  quatuor  ferme  miliana  audiebantur." 

Nuremb.  Chron 

On  the  lone  bleak  moor, 

At  the  midnight  hour, 
Beneath  the  Gallows  Tree, 

Hand  in  hand 

The  Murderers  stand 
By  one,  by  two,  by  three ! 

And  the  Moon  that  night 

With  a  grey,  cold  light 
Each  baleful  object  tips; 

One  half  of  her  form 

Is  seen  through  the  storm. 
The  other  half's  hid  in  Eclipse. 

And  the  cold  Wind  howls, 

And  the  Thunder  growls, 
And  the  Lightning  is  broad  and  bright; 

And  altogether 

It 's  very  bad  weather, 
And  an  unpleasant  sort  of  a  night  I 

"Now  mount  who  list, 

And  close  by  the  wrist 
Sever  me  quickly  the  Dead  Man's  fist  I— 


52  THE    NURSE  S    STORY. 

Now  climb  who  dare 

"Where  he  swings  in  air, 
And  pluck  me  five  locks  of  the  Dead  Man's  hair  I " 
****** 
There's  an  old  woman  dwells  upon  Tappington  Moor, 
She  hath  years  on  her  back  at  the  least  fourscore, 
And  some  people  fancy  a  great  many  more 

ller  nose  it  is  hook'd, 

Her  back  it  is  crook'd, 

Her  eyes  blear  and  red : 

On  the  top  of  her  head 

Is  a  rautcli,  and  on  that 

A  shocking  bad  hat, 
Extinguisher-shaped,  the  brim  narrow  and  flat ! 
Then, — My  Gracious  I — her  beard ! — it  would  sadly  perplex 
A  spectator  at  first  to  distinguish  her  sex  ; 
Nor,  I  '11  venture  to  say,  without  scrutiny  could  he 
Pronounce  her,  ofF-handed,  a  Punch  or  a  Judy. 
Did  you  see  her,  in  short,  that  mud-hovel  within. 
With  her  knees  to  her  nose,  and  her  nose  to  her  chin, 
Leering  up  with  that  queer,  indescribable  grin, 
You'd  lift  up  your  hands  in  amazement,  and  cry,      ^ 
•* — Well  I — I  never  did  see  such  a  regular  Guyl  " 

And  now  before 

That  old  Woman's  door, 
Where  naught  that's  good  may  be, 

Hand  in  hand 

The  Murderers  stand 
By  one,  by  two,  by  three  1 
Oh  I  'tis  a  horrible  sight  to  view. 
In  that  horrible  hovel,  that  horrible  crew, 
By  the  pale  blue  glare  of  that  flickering  flame, 
Doing  the  deed  that  hath  never  a  name  I 

'Tis  awful  to  hear 

Those  words  of  fear  I 
The  pray'r  mutter'd  backwards,  and  said  with  a  sneer 
(Matthew  Hopkins  himself  has  assured  us  that  when 
A  witch  says  her  pray'rsj  she  begins  with  "  Amen.**)— 


THE    HAliiD    OF    GLORY.  f)H 

— Tis  awful  to  see 

On  that  Old  Woman's  knee 
The  dead,  slirivell'd  hand,  as  she  clasps  it  with  glee 

And  now,  with  care, 

The  five  locks  of  hair 
From  the  skull  of  the  Gentleman  dangling  up  there, 

With  the  grease  and  the  fat 

Of  a  black  Tom  Cat 

iShe  hastens  to  mix, 

And  to  twist  into  wicks. 
And  one  on  the  thumb,  and  each  finger  to  fix. — 
(For  another  receipt  the  same  charm  to  prepare, 
Consult  Mr.  Ainsworth  and  Fetit  Albert.) 

"  Now  open  lock 

To  the  Dead  Man's  knock  I 
Fly  bolt,  and  bar,  and  band  I^ 

Nor  move,  nor  swerve 

Joint,  muscle,  or  nerve, 
At  the  spell  of  the  Dead  Man's  hand ! 
Sleep  all  who  sleep ! — Wake  all  who  wake  I — 
And  be  as  the  Dead  for  the  Dead  Man's  sake  1 1 " 

****** 
A.11  is  silent  I  all  is  still. 
Save  the  ceaseless  moan  of  the  bubbling  rill 
As  it  wells  from  the  bosom  of  Tappington  Hill ; 

And  in  Tappington  Hall 

Great  and  Small, 
Gentle  and  Simple,  Squire  and  Groom, 
Each  one  hath  sought  his  separate  room, 
And  sleep  her  dark  mantle  hath  o'er  them  cast^ 
For  the  midnight  hour  hath  long  been  past  1 

All  is  darksome  in  earth  and  sky. 

Save,  from  yon  casement,  narrow  and  high, 

A  quivering  beam 

On  the  tiny  stream 
Plays,  like  some  taper's  fitful  gleanc 
By  one  that  is  watching  wearily. 


54  THE    NURSE  S    STORY. 

Within  that  casement,  narrow  and  high, 
In  his  secret  lair,  where  none  may  spy, 
Sits  one  whose  brow  is  wrinkled  with  care, 
And  the  thin  grey  locks  of  his  failing  hair 
Have  left  his  little  bald  pate  all  bare ; 

For  his  fiill-bottom'd  wig 

Hangs,  bushy  and  big, 
On  the  top  of  his  old-fashion'd,  high-back'd  chair. 

Unbraced  are  his  clothes, 

Ungarter'd  his  hose. 
His  gown  is  bedizened  with  tulip  and  rose. 
Flowers  of  remarkable  size  and  hue, 
Flowers  such  as  Eden  never  knew  ; 
— And  there,  by  many  a  sparkling  heap 

Of  the  good  red  gold, 

The  tale  is  told 
What  powerful  spell  avails  to  keep 
That  care-worn  man  from  his  needful  sleep ! 
Haply,  he  deems  no  eye  can  see 
As  he  gloats  on  his  treasm-e  greedily, — 

The  shining  store 

Of  glittering  ore. 
The  fair  Rose-Noble,  the  bright  Moidore, 
And  the  broad  Double  Joe  from  ayont  the  sea, — 
But  there's  one  that  watches  as  well  as  he ; 

For,  wakeful  and  sly, 

In  a  closet  hard  by. 
On  his  truckle-bed  lieth  a  little  Foot-page, 
A  boy  who's  uncommonly  sharp  of  his  age. 

Like  young  Master  Horner, 

Who  erst  in  a  corner 
Sat  eating  his  Christmas  pie : 
And,  while  that  Old  Gentleman's  counting  his  hoardij, 
Little  Hugh  peeps  through  a  crack  in  tlie  boards! 
***** 

There's  a  voice  in  the  air. 

There's  a  step  on  the  stair, 
The  old  man  starts  in  his  cane-back'd  chair; 


THE    HAND    OF    GLORY.  66 


At  the  first  faint  sound 

He  gazes  around. 
And  holds  up  his  dip  of  sixteen  to  the  pound. 

Then  half  arose 

From  beside  his  toes 
His  little  pug-dog  with  his  little  pug  nose, 
But,  ere  he  can  vent  one  inquisitive  sniff. 
That  little  pug-dog  stands  stark  and  stiff. 

For  low,  yet  clear, 

Now  fall  on  the  ear, 
— Where  once  pronounced  for  ever  they  dwell,- 
The  unholy  words  of  the  Dead  Man's  spell  1 

"Open  lock 

To  the  Dead  Man's  knock  I 
Fly  bolt,  and  bar,  and  band  I 

Nor  move,  nor  swerve 

Joint,  muscle,  or  nerve. 
At  the  spell  of  the  Dead  Man's  hand ! 
Sleep  all  who  sleep! — "Wake  all  who  wake  I — 
But  be  as  the  Dead  for  the  Dead  Man's  sake  1 1 " 


Nor  stout  oak  panel  thick-studded  with  nails. 
Heavy  and  harsh  the  hinges  creak. 
Though  they  had  been  oil'd  in  the  course  of  the  week ; 
The  door  opens  wide  as  wide  may  be, 

And  there  they  stand. 

That  murderous  band. 
Let  by  the  light  of  that  Glorious  Hand, 

By  one ! — by  two  ! — by  three  I 

They  have  pasp'd  through  the  porch,  they  have  pass'    thrr'xgh 

the  hall. 
Where  the  Porter  sat  snoring  against  the  wall ; 

The  very  snore  froze 

In  his  very  snub  nose. 
You'd  have  verily  deem'd  he  had  snored  his  last 
When  the  Glorious  Hand  by  the  side  of  him  past  I 


o6  THE    nurse's    story. 

E'en  the  little  wee  mouse,  as  it  ran  o'er  the  mat 
At  the  top  of  its  speed  to  escape  from  the  cat. 

Though  half  dead  with  affright, 

Paused  in  its  flight; 
And  the  cat,  that  was  chasing  that  little  wee  thing. 
Lay  crouch'd  as  a  statue  in  act  to  spring  1 

And  now  they  are  there, 

On  the  head  of  the  stair. 
And  the  long  crooked  whittle  is  gleaming  and  bare  I 
— I  really  don't  think  any  money  would  bribe 
Me  the  horrible  scene  that  ensued  to  describe, 
Or  the  wild,  wild  glare 

Of  that  old  man's  eye, 
His  dumb  despair, 

And  deep  agony. 

The  kid  from  the  pen,  and  the  lamb  from  the  fold. 
Unmoved  may  the  blade  of  the  butcher  behold ; 
They  dream  not — ah,  happier  they  1 — that  the  knife, 
Though  uplifted,  can  menace  their  innocent  life ; 
It  falls ; — the  frail  thread  of  their  being  is  riven, 
They  dread  not,  suspect  not,  the  blow  till  'tis  given.— 
But,  oh  1  what  a  thing  'tis  to  see  and  to  know 
That  the  bare  knife  is  raised  in  the  hand  of  the  foe. 
Without  hope  to  repel,  or  to  ward  off  the  blow  I — 
— Enough ! — let's  pass  over  as  fast  as  we  can 
The  fate  of  that  grey,  that  unhappy  old  man  1 

But  fancy  poor  Hugh, 

Aghast  at  the  view, 
Powerless  alike  to  speak  or  to  do  I 

In  vain  doth  he  try 

To  open  the  eye 
Tliat  is  shut,  or  close  that  which  is  clapt  to  the  chink, 
Though  he'd  give  all  the  world  to  be  able  to  wink  I— 
No ! — for  all  that  this  world  can  give  or  refuse, 
I  would  not  be  now  in  that  little  boy's  shoes, 
Oi  indeed  any  garment  at  all  that  is  Hugh's  1 


THE    HAND    OF    GLORY.  5l 

— 'Tis  lucky  for  him  that  the  chiuk  in  the  wall 
Ht  has  peep'd  through  so  long,  is  so  narrow  and  small  I 
Wailing  voices,  sounds  of  woe, 

Such  as  follow  departing  friends, 
That  fatal  night  round  Tappington  go, 

Its  long-drawn  roofs  and  its  gable  ends : 
Ethereal  Spii'its,  gentle  and  good, 
Aye  weep  and  lament  o'er  a  deed  of  blood  I 
*  *  ^  *  * 

Tis  early  dawn — the  morn  is  grey, 
And  the  clouds  and  the  tempest  have  pass'd  away, 
And  all  things  betoken  a  very  fine  day ; 
But,  while  the  lark  her  carol  is  singing. 
Shrieks  and  screams  are  through  Tappington  ringing  I 
Upstarting  all, 
Great  and  small, 
Each  one  who's  found  within  Tappington  Hall, 
Gentle  and  Simple,  Squire  or  Groom, 
All  seek  at  once  that  old  Gentleman's  room ; 
And  there,  on  the  floor, 
Drench'd  in  its  gore, 
A  ghastly  corpse  lies  exposed  to  the  view, 
Carotid  and  jugular  both  cut  through! 
And  there,  by  its  side, 
'Mid  the  crimson  tide. 
Kneels  a  little  Foot-page  of  tenderest  years ; 
Adown  his  pale  cheek  the  fast-falling  tears 
Are  coursing  each  other  round  and  big, 
And  he's  staunching  the  blood  with  a  full-bottom'd  wig 
Alas  I  and  alack  for  his  staunching! — 'tis  plain. 
As  anatomists  tell  us,  that  never  again 
Shall  life  revisit  the  foully  slain. 
When  once  they've  been  cut  through  the  j'jgular  vein. 

»  *  *  *  » 

There's  a  hue  and  a  cry  through  the  County  of  Kent, 
And  in  chase  of  the  cut-throats  a  Constable's  sent, 
But  no  one  can  tell  the  man  which  wav  they  went. 
3* 


58  THE  nurse's  story. 

There's  a  little  Foot-page  with  that  Constable  goes, 
And  a  little  pug-dog  with  a  little  pug-nose. 

«  «  «  «  « 

In  Rochester  town 

At  the  sign  of  the  Crown, 
Three  phabby-genteel  men  are  just  sitting  down 
To  a  fat  stubble-goose,  with  potatoes  down  brown ; 

When  a  little  Foot-page 

Rushes  in,  in  a  rage, 
Upsetting  the  apple-sauce,  onions,  and  sage. 
That  little  Foot-page  takes  the  first  by  the  throat, 
And  a  little  pug-dog  takes  the  next  by  the  coat^ 
And  a  Constable  seizes  the  one  more  remote ; 
And  fair  rose-nobles  and  broad  moidores. 
The  Waiter  pulls  out  of  their  pockets  by  scores. 
And  the  Boots  and  the  Chambermaids  run  in  and  stare ; 
And  the  Constable  says,  with  a  dignified  air, 
"You're  wanted,  Gen'lemen,  one  and  all. 
For  that  'ere  precious  lark  at  Tappington  Hall  1" 

There's  a  black  gibbet  frowns  upon  Tappington  Moor, 
Where  a  former  black  gibbet  has  frown'd  before ; 
It  is  as  black  as  black  may  be, 
And  murderers  there 
Are  dangling  in  air, 
By  one ! — by  two  I — by  three  I 

There's  a  horrid  old  hag  in  a  steeple-crown'd  hat. 

Round  her  neck  they  have  tied  to  a  hempen  cravat 

A  Dead  Man's  hand,  and  a  dead  Tom  Cat  1 

They  have  tied  up  her  thumbs,  they  have  tied  up  her  tooa, 

They  have  tied  up  her  eyes,  they  have  tied  up  her  limbs  ! 
Into  Tappington  mill-dam  souse  she  goes 

With  a  whoop  and  a  halloo ! — "  She  swims ! — She  swims !" 
They  have  dragg'd  her  to  land, 
And  every  one's  hand, 

Is  grasping  a  faggot,  a  billet,  or  brand. 


THE    HAND    OF    GLORY.  69 

When  a  queer-looking  horseman,  drest  all  in  black, 
Snatches  up  that  old  harridan  just  like  a  sack 
To  the  crupper  behind  him,  puts  spurs  to  his  hack. 
Makes  a  dash  through  the  crowd,  and  ia  off  in  a  crack  »— 

No  one  can  tell, 

Though  they  guess  pretty  well. 
Which  way  that  grim  rider  and  old  woman  go, 
For  all  see  he's  a  sort  of  infernal  Ducrow ; 

And  she  scream'd  so,  and  cried, 

"We  may  fairly  decide 
That  the  old  woman  did  not  much  relish  her  ride  I 

Moral. 

This  truest  of  stories  confirms  beyond  doubt 
That  truest  of  adages — "  Murder  will  out !" 
In  vain  may  the  blood-spiller  "  double  "  and  fly 
In  vain  even  witchcraft  and  sorcery  try : 
Although  for  a  time  he  may  'scape,  by-and-by 
He'll  be  sure  to  be  caught  by  a  Hugh  and  a  Cry  . 


•  One  marvel  follcws  another  as  naturally  as  one 
"  shoulder  of  mutton  "  is  said  "  to  drive  another  down." 
A  little  Welsh  girl,  who  sometimes  makes  her  way  from 
the  kitchen  into  the  nursery,  after  listening  with  intense 
interest  to  this  tale,  immediately  started  off  at  score  with 
the  sum  and  substance  of  what,  in  due  reverence  for 
such  authority,  I  shall  call — 


PATTY  MORGAN  THE  MILKMAID'S  STORl 


**LOOK  AT  THE  CLOCKl* 


"Look  at  the  Clock !"  quoth  Winifred  Pryce, 

As  she  open'd  the  door  to  her  husband's  knock, 
Then  paus'd  to  give  him  a  piece  of  advice, 
"  You  nasty  Warmint,  look  at  the  Clock  1 
Is  this  the  "way,  you 
Wretch,  every  day  you 
Treat  her  who  vow'd  to  love  and  obey  you  ?— 
Out  all  night ! 
Me  in  a  fright ; 
Staggering  home  as  it's  just  getting  light ! 
You  intoxified  brute  ! — ^you  insensible  block  I — 
Look  at  the  Clock !— Do !— Look  at  the  Clock  I" 

Winifred  Pryce  was  tidy  and  clean, 
Her  gown  was  a  flower'd  one,  her  petticoat  green. 
Her  buckles  were  bright  as  her  milking  cans. 
And  her  hat  was  a  beaver,  and  made  like  a  man's ; 
Her  little  red  eyes  were  deep  set  in  their  socket-holes. 
Her  gown-tail  was  turn'd  up,  and  tucked  throisgh  the  pocket 
holes ; 

A  face  like  a  ferret 
Betoken'd  her  spirit : 
To  conclude,  Mrs.  Pryce  was  not  over  young. 
Had  very  short  legs,  and  a  very  long  tongue. 


62  PATTY   MORGAN   THE    MILKMAID's    STORY. 

Now  David  Pryce 

Had  one  daring  vice; 
Remarkably  partial  to  anything  nice. 
Nought  that  was  good  to  him  came  amiss, 
Whether  to  eat,  or  to  drink,  or  to  kiss  I 

Esi/ccially  al'v— 

If  it  was  not  too  staie 
I  really  believe  he'd  have  emptied  a  pail ; 

Not  that  in  Wales 

They  talk  of  tlieir  Ales ; 
To  pronounce  the  word  they  make  use  of  iiiAght  trouble  you, 
Being  spelt  with  a  C,  two  Rs,  and  a  W. 

That  particular  day, 

As  I've  heard  people  say, 
Mr.  David  Pryce  had  been  soaking  his  clay. 
And  amusing  himself  with  his  pipe  and  cheroots, 
The  whole  afternoon  at  the  Goat-in-Boots, 

With  a  couple  more  soakers. 

Thoroughbred  smokers,  , 

Both,  like  himself,  prime  singers  and  jokers ; 
And,  long  after  day  had  drawn  to  a  close, 
And  the  rest  of  the  world  was  wrapp'd  in  repose, 
They  were  roaring  out  "  Shenkin !"  and  "  Ar  hydd  y  nos;" 
While  David  himself  to  a  Sasscmach  tune. 
Sang,  "  We've  drunk  down  the  Sun,  boys !  let's  drink  down  ih« 
Moon ! 

What  have  we  with  day  to  do  ? 

Mrs.  Winifred  Pryce,  'twas  made  for  you  I"  •- 
At  length,  when  they  couldn't  well  drink  any  more, 
Old  '  Goat-in-Boots"  showed  them  the  door: 

And  then  came  that  knock, 

And  the  sensible  shock 
David  felt  when  his  wife  cried,  "  Look  at  the  Clock  1" 
For  the  hands  stood  as  crooked  as  crc  oked  might  be, 
Tlie  long  at  the  Twelve,  and  the  short  at  the  Three! 

That  self-same  clock  had  long  been  a  bone 
Of  contention  between  this  Darby  and  Joan  ; 


63 


And  often,  among  their  pother  and  rout, 
When  this  otherwise  amiable  couple  fell  out, 

Pryce  would  drop  a  cool  hint 
,  With  an  ominous  squint 
At  its  case,  of  an  "  Uncle  "  of  his,  who  'd  a  "Spout* 

Tliat  horrid  word  "Spout" 

No  sooner  came  out. 
Than  Winifred  Pryce  would  turn  her  about, 

And  with  scorn  on  her  lip, 

And  a  hand  on  each  hip, 
"  Spout "  herself  till  her  nose  grew  red  at  the  tip, 

"You  thundering  Willin, 

I  know  you'd  be  killing 
Your  wife  — ay,  a  dozen  of  wives, — for  a  shilling  I 

You  may  do  what  you  please. 

You  may  sell  my  chemise, 
(Mrs.  P.  "was  too  Avell  bred  to  mention  her  stock,) 
But  I  never  will  part  with  my  Grandmother's  Clock  I  * 

Mrs.  Pryce's  tongue  ran  long  and  ran  fast ; 

But  patience  is  apt  to  wear  out  at  last, 

And  David  Pryce  in  temper  was  quick. 

So  he  stretch'd  out  his  hand,  and  caught  hold  of  a  stick 

Perhaps  in  its  use  he  might  mean  to  be  lenient^ 

But  walking  just  then  wasn't  very  convenient, 

So  he  threw  it,  instead. 

Direct  at  her  head  ; 

It  knock'd  off  her  hat ; 

Down  she  fell  flat; 
Her  ease,  perhaps,  w^as  not  much  mended  by  that 
But  whatever  it  was, — whether  rage  and  pain 
Produced  apoplexy,  or  bui'st  a  vein, 
Or  her  tumble  induced  a  concussion  of  brain, 
I  can't  say  for  certain, — but  this  I  can. 
When,  sober'd  by  fright,  to  assist  her  ho  ran, 
Mrs.  Winifred  Pryce  was  as  dead  as  Queen  Anne 


64  PATTY    MORGAN    TH^    MILKMAID  S    STORT. 

The  fearful  catastrophe 

Named  in  my  last  strophe 
As  acding  to  grim  Death's  exploits  such  a  vast  trophy, 
Made  a  great  noise  ;  and  the  shocking  fatality 
Ran  over,  like  wild-fire,  the  whole  Principality. 
And  then  came  Mr.  Ap  Thomas,  the  Coroner, 
With  his  jury  to  sit,  some  dozen  or  more,  on  her. 

Mr.  Pryce  to  commence 

His  "  ingenious  defence," 
Made  a  "powerful  appeal"  to  the  jury's  "good  sense," 

"The  world  he  must  defy 

Even  to  justify 
Any  presumption  of  'Malice  Prepense  ;'  " — 

The  unlucky  lick 

From  the  end  of  his  stick 
He  "deplored," — he  was  "apt  to  he  rather  too  quick '*- 

But,  really,  her  prating 

Was  so  aggravating : 
Some  trifling  correction  was  just  what  he  meant; — all 
The  rest,  he  assured  them,  was  "  quite  accidental  I  " 

Then  he  calls  Mr.  Jones, 
Who  depones  to  her  tones, 

And  her  gestures,  and  hints  about  "  breaking  his  boueSb' 

While  Mr.  Ap  Morgan  and  Mr.  Ap  Rhys 
Declared  the  Deceased 
Had  styled  him  "a  Beast," 

And  swear  they  had  witness'd,  with  grief  and  surprise, 

The  allusions  she  made  to  his  limbs  and  his  eyes. 

The  jury,  in  fine,  having  sat  on  the  body 

The  whole  day,  discussing  the  case,  and  gin  toddy, 

Return'd  about  half-past  eleven  at  night 

The  following  verdict,  "  We  find,  Sarve  her  right  !  " 

Mr.  Pryce,  Mrs.  Winifred  Pryce  being  dead. 
Felt  lonely,  and  moped  ;  and  one  evening  he  said 
He  would  marry  Miss  Davis  at  once  in  her  stead. 


"  LOOK    AT    TliE    CLOCk/'  65 

Not  far  from  his  dwelling, 

From  the  vale  proudly  swelling, 
Rose  a  mountain  ;  its  name  you'll  excuse  me  from  tellinft 
For  the  vowels  made  use  of  in  "Welsh  are  so  few 
Tliat  the  A  and  the  E,  the  I,  O,  and  the  U, 
Have  really  but  little  or  nothing  to  do  ; 
And  the  duty,  of  course,  falls  the  heavier  by  far 
On  the  L,  and  the  H,  and  the  N,*  and  the  R. 

Its  first  syllable  "Pen," 

Is  pronounceable  ; — then 
Come  two  L  Ls,  and  two  II  Hs,  two  F  Fs,  and  an  N ; 
About  half  a  score  Rs,  and  some  Ws  follow, 
Beating  all  my  best  efforts  at  euphony  hollow : 
But  we  shan't  have  to  mention  it  often,  so  when 
We  do,  with  your  leave,  we'll  curtail  it  to  "Pen.** 

Well — the  moon  shone  bright 

Upon  "  Pen  "  that  night. 
When  Pryce,  being  quit  of  his  fuss  and  his  fright, 

Was  scaling  its  side 

With  that  sort  of  a  stride 
A  man  puts  on  when  walking  in  search  of  a  bride, 

Mounting  higher  and  higher, 

He  began  to  perspire, 
Till,  finding  his  legs  were  beginning  to  tire, 

And  feeling  opprest 

By  a  pain  in  his  chest. 
He  paus'd,  and  turn'd  round  to  take  breath,  and  to  rest 
A  walk  all  up  hill  is  apt,  we  know, 
To  make  one,  however  robust,  puflf  and  blow, 
So  he  stopp'd  and  look'd  down  on  the  valley  below. 

O'er  fell,  and  o'er  fen. 

Over  mountain  and  glen. 
All  briglit  in  the  moonshine,  his  eye  roved,  and  then 
All  the  Patriot  rose  in  his  soul,  and  he  thought 
Vpoa  Wales,  and  her  glories,  and  all  he  'd  been  taught 


66 

Of  her  Heroes  of  old. 

So  brave  and  so  bold, — 
Of  her  Bards  with  long  beards,  and  harps  mounted  in  fjold: 

Of  King  Edward  the  First, 

Of  memory  accurst ; 
And  the  scandalous  manner  in  which  he  behaved. 

Killing  Poets  by  dozens. 

With  their  uncles  and  cousins. 
Of  whom  not  one  in  fifty  had  ever  been  shaved. — 
Of  the  Court  Ball,  at  which  by  a  lucky  mishap, 
Owen  Tudor  fell  into  Queen  Katherine's  lap ; 

And  how  Mr.  Tudor 

Successfully  woo'd  her. 
Till  the  Dowager  put  on  a  new  wedding  ring, 
And  so  made  him  Father-in  law  to  the  King. 


He  thought  upon  Arthur,  and  Merlin  of  yore, 

On  Gryffith  ap  Conan,  and  Owen  Glendour ; 

On  Pendragon,  and  Heaven  knows  how  many  mor«. 

He  thought  of  all  this,  as  he  gazed,  in  a  trice. 

And  on  all  things,  in  short,  but  the  late  Mrs.  Pryce ; 

When  a  lumbering  noise  from  behind  made  him  start» 

And  Rent  the  blood  back  in  full  tide  to  his  heart. 

Which  went  pit-a-pat 

As  he  cried  out  "  What's  that  ?" 

That  very  queer  sound  ? 

Does  it  come  from  the  ground  ? 
Or  the  air, — from  above, — or  below, — or  around  ?— 

It  is  not  like  Talking, 

It  is  not  like  Walking, 
It 's  not  like  the  clattering  of  pot  or  of  pan. 
Or  the  tramp  of  a  horse, — or  the  tread  of  a  man, — 
Or  the  hum  of  a  crowd, — or  the  shouting  of  boys,— 
It 's  really  a  deuced  odd  sort  of  noise  I 
Not  unlike  a  cart's, — but  that  can't  be  ;  for  when 
Could  "  all  the  King's  horses  and  all  the  King's  men,** 
With  Old  Nick  for  a  waggoner,  drive  one  up  "  Pen  ?" 


"look  at  clock."  67 

Pryce,  u^ially  brimful  of  valour  -when  drunk, 

Now  experienced  what  schoolboys  denominate  "funk." 

In  vain  he  look'd  back 

On  the  whole  of  the  track 
He  had  traversed ;  a  thick  cloud,  uncommonly  black. 
At  this  moment  obscured  the  broad  disc  of  the  moon, 
And  did  not  seem  likely  to  pass  away  soon  ; 

"While  clearer  and  clearer, 

Twas  plain  to  the  hearer, 
Be  the  noise  what  it  might,  it  drew  nearer  and  nearer, 
And  sounded,  as  Pryce  to  this  moment  declares, 
Very  raucli  "like  a  Coffin  a-walking  up  stairs." 

Mr.  Pryce  had  begun 

To  "  make  up"  for  a  run. 
As  in  such  a  companion  he  saw  no  great  fun, 

WTien  a  single  bright  ray 

Shone  out  on  the  way 
lie  had  passed,  and  he  saw,  with  no  little  dismay, 
Coming  after  him,  bounding  o'er  crag  and  o'er  rock. 
The  deceased  Mrs.  Winifred's  "Grandmother's  Clock!  f" 
Twas  so ! — it  had  certainly  moved  from  its  place, 
And  come,  lumbei-ing  on  thus,  to  bold  him  in  chase  ; 
j  Twas  the  very  same  Head,  and  the  very  same  Case, 
And  nothing  was  altered  at  all — but  the  Face  I 
In  that  he  perceived,  with  no  little  surprise, 
rhe  two  little  winder-holes  turned  into  eyes 

Blazing  with  ire. 

Like  two  coals  of  fire  ; 
And  the  "Name  of  the  Maker"  was  changed  to  a  Lip, 
And  the  Hands  to  a  Nose  with  a  very  red  tip. 
No ! — he  could  not  mistake  it, — 'twas  She  to  the  life  I 
rhe  identical  face  of  his  poor  defunct  Wife  1 

One  glance  was  enough. 

Completely  "  Quant.  Sxiff." 
k&  the  doctors  write  down  when  they  send  you  their  "stuft"."— 
Like  a  Weather-oock  whirled  by  a  vehement  pufF, 


68  PATir    MORGAN    THE    MILKMAIDS    STORY. 

David  turned  hitaself  round  ; 
Ten  feet  of  ground 
He  elear'd,  in  his  start,  at  the  very  first  bound ! 

I  've  seen  people  run  at  West-End  Fair  for  cheeses— 

r  've  seen  Ladies  run  at  Bow  Fair  for  chemises  - 

At  Greenwich  Fair  twenty  men  run  for  a  hat, 

And  one  from  a  Bailiff  much  faster  than  that — 

At  foot-ball  I  've  seen  lads  run  after  the  bladder — 

I  've  seen  Irish  Bricklayers  run  up  a  ladder — 

I  've  seen  little  boys  run  away  from  a  cane — 

And  I  've  seen  (that  is,  read  of)  good  running  in  Spain  ,* 

But  I  never  did  read 

Of,  or  witness,  such  speed 
As  David  exerted  that  evening — Indeed 
All  I  ever  have  heard  of  boys,  women,  or  men. 
Falls  far  short  of  Pryce,  as  he  ran  over  "  Pen  1 " 

He  now  reaches  its  brow, — 

He  has  past  it, — and  now 
Having  once  gained  the  summit,  and  managed  to  cross  it,  he 
Rolls  down  the  side  with  uncouunon  velocity  ; 

But,  run  as  he  will, 

Or  roll  down  the  hill. 
That  bugbear  behind  him  is  after  him  still ! 
And  close  at  his  heels,  not  at  all  to  his  liking, 
The  terrible  clock  keeps  on  ticking  and  striking, 

Till,  exhausted  and  sore, 

He  can't  run  any  more, 
But  falls  as  he  reaches  Miss  Davis's  door. 
And  screams  when  they  I'ush  out,  alarm'd  at  his  knock, 
"  Oh  1  Look  at  the  Clock  !— Do !— Look  at  the  Clock  1 1  " 

Miss  Davis  look'd  up,  Miss  Davis  look'd  down. 
She  saw  nothing  there  to  alarm  her ; — a  frown 

•  I-run.  is  a  town  said  to  have  been  so  named  from  soniethingr  of  tti 
sort. 


"  LOOK    AT    THE    CLOCK."  69 

Came  o'er  her  white  forehead, 

She  said,  "  It  was  horrid 
A  man  should  come  knocking  at  that  time  of  night, 
And  give  her  Mamma  and  herself  such  a  fright ; — 

To  squall  and  to  bawl 

ALout  nothing  at  all !" — 
She  begg'd  "  he'd  not  think  of  repeating  his  call, 

His  late  wife's  disaster 

By  no  means  had  past  her," 
She  'd  "have  him  to  know  she  was  meat  for  his  Master  1" 
Then  regardless  alike  of  his  love  and  his  woes, 
She  turn'd  on  her  heel  and  she  turned  up  her  nose. 

Poor  David  in  vain 

Implored  to  remain, 
He  "  dared  not,"  he  said,  "  cross  the  mountain  again." 

Why  the  fair  was  obdurate 

None  knows, — to  be  sure,  it 
Was  said  she  was  setting  her  cap  at  the  Curate  ;— 
Be  that  as  it  may,  it  is  certain  the  sole  hole 
Pryce  found  to  creep  into  that  night  was  the  Coal-hole ! 

In  that  shady  retreat 

With  nothing  to  eat. 
And  with  very  bruised  limbs,  and  with  very  sore  feet^ 

All  night  close  he  kept ; 

I  can't  say  he  slept ; 
But  he  sigh'd,  and  he  sobb'd,  and  he  groan  d,  and  he  wept 

Lamenting  his  sins. 

And  his  two  broken  shins, 
Bewailing  his  fate  with  contortions  and  grins, 
And  her  he  once  thought  a  complete  Rara  Avin. 
Consigning  to  Satan, — viz.  cruel  Miss  Davis  1 

Mr.  David  has  since  had  a  "  serious  call," 
He  never  drinks  ale,  wine,  or  spirits,  at  all. 
And  they  say  he  is  going  to  Exeter  Hall 

To  make  a  grand  speech, 

And  to  preach  and  to  teach 


70  PATTY    MORGAN   THE    MILKMAId's    STORr. 

People  that  "  they  can't  brew  their  malt  liquor  too  small  I* 
That  an  ancient  Welsh  Poet,  one  Pyndar  ap  Tudor, 
Was  right  in  proelaimiog  "Ariston  mex  Upor!" 

Which  means  "  The  pure  Element 

Is  for  Man's  bellj  meant !" 
And  that  Oin  's  but  a  Snare  of  Old  Kick  the  deluderl 

And  "still  on  each  evening  when  pleasure  fills  up," 
At  the  old  Goat-in-Boots,  with  Metlieglin,  each  cup, 

Mr.  Pryce,  if  he  's  there, 

Will  get  into  "The  Chair," 
And  make  all  his  quondam  associates  stare 
liy  calling  aloud  to  the  Landlady's  daughter, 
"Patty,  bring  a  cigar,  and  a  glass  of  Spring  Water  I" 
The  dial  he  constantly  watches ;  and  wlnm 
The  long  hand  's  at  the  "XII,"  and  the  short  at  the  "  X,* 

He  gets  on  his  legs, 

Drains  his  glass  to  the  dregs, 
Takes  his  hat  and  great-coat  off  their  several  pegs, 
With  his  President's  hammer  bestows  his  last  knock, 
And  says  solemnly — "  Gentlemen  ! 

"  Look  at  tue  Clock  ! !  1" 


The  succeeding  Legend  has  long  been  an  established 
favourite  with  all  of  us,  as  containing  much  of  the 
personal  history  of  one  of  the  greatest  ornaments  of 
the  family  tree. 

To  the  wedding  between  the  sole  heiress  of  this 
redoubted  hero  and  a  direct  ancestor  is  it  owing  that 
the  Lioncels  of  Shurland  hang  so  lovingly  parallel  with 
the  Saltire  of  the  Ingoldsbys,  and  now  form  as  cherished 
a  quartering  in  their  escutcheon  as  the  "  dozen  white 
lowses  "  in  the  "  old  coat "  of  Shallow. 


GKEY  DOLPHIN. 


A    LEGEND    OF    SHEPPEY. 

'  AIk  won't — won't  be  ?  Then  bring  me  my  boots !" 
said  the  Baron. 

Constornation  was  at  its  height  in  the  castle  of  Shur- 
land — a  caitiff  had  dared  to  disobey  the  Baron !  and — 
the  Baron  had  called  for  his  boots ! 

A  thunderbolt  in  the  great  hall  had  been  a  bagatelle 
to  it. 

A  few  days  before,  a  notable  miracle  had  been 
wrought  in  the  neighbourhood ;  and  in  those  times 
miracles  were  not  so  common  as  they  are  now ; — no 
royal  balloons,  no  steam,  no  railroads, — while  the  few 
Saints  who  took  the  trouble  to  walk  with  their  heads 
under  their  arms,  or  to  pull  the  Devil  by  the  nose, 
scarcely  appeared  above  once  in  a  century ;  so  the  affair 
made  the  greater  sensation. 

The  clock  had  done  striking  twelve,  and  the  Clerk  of 
Chatham  was  untrussing  his  points  preparatory  to  seek- 
ing his  truckle-bed ;  a  half-emptied  tankard  of  mild  ale 
stood  at  his  elbow,  the  roasted  crab  yet  floating  on  its 
surface.  Midnight  had  surprised  the  worthy  function 
ary  while  occupied  in  discussing  it,  and  with  his  task 
f  et  unaccomplished.    He  meditated  a  mighty  draft :  on€ 


72  GREY    DOLPHIN. 

hand  was  fumbling  with  his  tags,  while  the  other  was 
extended  in  the  act  of  grasping  the  jorum,  when  a  knock 
on  the  portal,  solemn  and  sonorous,  arrested  his  fingers. 
It  was  repeated  thrice  ere  Emmanuel  Saddleton  had 
presence  of  mind  sufficient  to  inqui.r*  who  sought  admit- 
tance at  that  untimeous  hour. 

"  Open  !  open !  good  Clerk  of  St.  Bridget's,"  said  a 
female  voice,  small,  yet  distinct  aud  sweet, — an  excel- 
lent thing  in  woman. 

The  Clerk  arose,  crossed  to  the  doorway,  and  undid 
the  latchet. 

On  the  threshold  stood  a  Lady  of  surpassing  beauty : 
her  robes  were  rich,  and  large,  and  full ;  and  a  diadem, 
sparkling  with  gems  that  shed  a  halo  around,  crowned 
her  brow  :  she  beckoned  the  Clerk  as  he  stood  in  asto- 
nishment before  her. 

"Emmanuel ! "  said  the  Lady ;  and  her  tones  sounded 
like  those  of  a  silver  flute.  "  Emmanuel  Saddleton,  truss 
up  your  points,  and  follow  me ! " 

The  worthy  Clerk  stared  aghast  at  the  vision ;  the 
purple  robe,  the  cymar,  the  coronet, — above  all,  the 
smile ;  no,  there  was  no  mistaking  her ; — it  was  the 
blessed  St.  Bridget  herself! 

And  what  could  have  brought  the  sainted  lady  out 
of  her  warm  shrine  at  such  a  time  of  night  ?  and  on 
such  a  night?  for  it  was  as  dark  as  pitch,  and,  meta- 
phorically speaking,  "  rained  cats  and  dogs." 

Emmanuel  could  not  speak,  so  he  looked  the  ques- 
tion. 

"  No  matter  for  that,"  said  the  Saint,  answering  to  his 
thought.  "  No  matter  for  that,  Emmanuel  Saddleton  : 
only  follow  me,  and  you'll  see ! " 


A    LEGEND    OF    SHEPPET.  73 

The  Clerk  turned  a  wistful  eye  at  the  corner-cup- 
board. 

"  Oh  !  never  mind  the  lantern,  Emmanuel :  you'll  not 
want  it :  but  you  may  bring  a  mattock  and  a  shovel." 
As  she  spoke,  the  beautiful  apparition  held  up  her  deli- 
cate hand.  From  the  tip  of  each  of  her  long  taper 
fingers  issued  a  lambent  flame  of  such  surpassing  bril- 
liancy as  would  have  plunged  a  whole  gas  company 
into  despair — it  was  a  "  Hand  of  Glory,"  *  such  a  one 
as  tradition  tells  us  yet  burns  in  Rochester  Castle  ever^ 
St.  Mark's  Eve.  Many  are  the  daring  individual?,  whc 
have  watched  in  Gundulph's  Tower,  hoping  to  find  it, 
and  the  treasure  a  guards  ; — but  none  of  them  ever  did. 

"  This  way,  Emmanuel ! "  and  a  flame  of  peculiar 
radiance  streamed  from  her  little  finger  as  it  pointed  to 
the  pathway  leading  to  the  churchyard. 

Saddleton  shouldered  his  tools,  and  followed  in 
silence. 

The  cemetery  of  St.  Bridget's  was  some  half-mile 
distant  from  the  Clerk's  domicile,  and  adjoined  a  chapel 
dedicated  to  that  illustrious  lady,  who,  after  leading 
but  a  so-so  life,  had  died  in  the  odour  of  sanctity.  Em- 
manuel Saddleton  was  fat  and  scant  of  breath,  the 
mattock  was  heavy,  and  the  Saint  walked  too  fast  for 
him :  he  paused  to  take  a  second  wind  at  the  end  of 
the  first  furlong. 

"  Emmanuel,"  said  the  holy  lady,  good-humouredly, 
for  she  heard  him  pufling ;  "  rest  awhile,  Emmanuel, 
and  I'll  tell  you  what  I  want  with  you." 

•  One  of  the  uses  to  which  this  mystic  chandelier  was  put,  was  the  pit^ 
tection  of  secret  treasure.  Blow  out  all  the  fingers  at  one  puff  and  you  had 
♦he  money. 

FIRST    SERIES.  4 


74  GKEY    DOLPHIN. 

Her  auditor  wiped  his  brow  with  the  back  of  his 
hand,  and  looked  all  attention  and  obedience. 

"  Emmanuel,"  continued  she,  "  what  did  you  and 
Father  Fothergill,  and  the  rest  of  you,  mean  yesterday 
by  burying  that  drowned  man  so  close  to  me?  He 
died  in  mortal  sin,  Emmanuel ;  no  shrift,  no  unction, 
no  absolution :  why,  he  might  as  well  have  been  excom- 
municated. He  plagues  me  with  his  grinning,  and  I 
can't  have  any  peace  in  my  shrine.  You  must  howk 
him  up  again,  Emmanuel." 

"  To  be  sure,  madam, — my  lady, — that  is,  your  holi- 
ness," stammered  Saddleton,  trembling  at  the  thought 
of  the  task  assigned  him.  "  To  be  sure,  your  ladyship ; 
only — that  is — " 

"  Emmanuel,"  said  the  Saint,  "  you'll  do  my  bidding ; 
or  it  would  be  better  you  had !  "  and  her  eye  changed 
from  a  dove's  eye  to  that  of  a  hawk,  and  a  flash  came 
from  it  as  bright  as  the  one  from  her  little  finger.  The 
Clerk  shook  in  his  shoes  ;  and,  again  dashing  the  cold 
perspiration  from  his  brow,  followed  the  footsteps  of  his 
mysterious  guide. 

*  *  *  *  * 

The  next  morning  all  Chatham  was  in  an  uproar. 
The  Clerk  of  St.  Bridget's  had  found  himself  at  home 
at  daybreak,  seated  in  his  own  arm-chair,  the  fire  out, 
and — the  tankard  of  ale  out  too  !  Who  had  drunk  it  ? 
■ — where  had  he  been  ? — how  had  he  got  home  ? — all 
was  a  mystery  ! — he  remembered  "  a  mass  of  things,  bu* 
nothing  distinctly."  All  was  fog  and  fantasy.  What 
he  could  clearly  recollect  was,  that  he  had  dug  up  the 
Grinning  Sailor,  and  that  the  Saint  had  helped  to  throw 
him  into  the  river  asfain.     All  was  thenceforth  wonde'* 


A    LEGEND    OF    SHEPPEY.  YS 

merit  and  devotion.  Masses  were  sung,  tapers  were  kin 
died,  bells  were  tolled  ;  the  monks  of  St.  Romauld  had  a 
solemn  procession,  the  abbot  at  their  head,  the  sacristan 
at  their  tail,  and  the  holy  breeches  of  St.  Thomas  a 
13eck^  in  the  centre  ; — Father  Fothergill  brewed  a 
XXX  puncheon  of  holy -water.  The  Rood  of  Gilling- 
ham  was  deserted ;  the  chapel  of  Rainham  forsaken  ; 
every  one  who  had  a  soul  to  be  saved,  flocked  with  his 
oflering  to  St.  Bridget's  shrine,  and  Emmanuel  Saddle- 
ton  gathered  more  fees  from  the  promiscuous  piety  of" 
that  one  week  than  he  had  pocketed  during  the  twelve 
preceding  months. 

Meanwhile  the  corpse  of  the  ejected  reprobate  oscil- 
lated like  a  pendulum  between  Sheerness  and  Gilling- 
ham  Reach.  Now  borne  by  the  Medway  into  the 
Western  Sw^ale, — now  carried  by  the  refluent  tide  back 
to  the  vicinity  of  its  old  quartei-s, — it  seemed  as  though 
the  River  god  and  Neptune  were  amusing  themselves 
with  a  game  of  subaqueous  battledore,  and  had  chosen 
this  unfortunate  carcass  as  a  marine  shuttlecock.  For 
some  time  the  alternation  was  kept  up  w^ith  great  spirit, 
till  Boreas,  interfering  in  the  shape  of  a  stiflSsh  "  Nor'- 
wester,"  drifted  the  bone  (and  flesh)  of  contention 
ashore  on  the  Shurland  domain,  where  it  lay  in  all  the 
majesty  of  mud.  It  was  soon  discovered  by  the  retain- 
ers, and  dragged  from  its  oozy  bed,  grinning  worse  than 
ever.  Tidings  of  the  god-send  were  of  cours>e  carried 
instantly  to  the  castle ;  for  the  Baron  was  a  very  great 
man ;  and  if  a  dun  cow  had  flown  across  his  property 
unannounced  by  the  warder,  the  Baron  would  have 
kicked  him,  the  said  warder,  from  the  topmost  battle- 
ment into  the  bottommost  ditch, — .n  descent  of  peril, 


76  GREY    DOLPHIN. 

and  one  which  "  Ludwig  the  leaper,"  or  the  illustrious 
Trenck  himself,  might  well  have  shrunk  from  encoun- 
tering. 

"  A.n't  please  your  lordship — "  said  Peter  Periwinkle, 

"1^0,  villain!  it  does  not  please  me !"  roared  the  Baron, 

His  lordship  was  deeply  engaged  with  a  peck  of 
Feversham  oysters, — he  doated  on  shellfish,  hated  inter- 
ruption at  meals,  and  had  not  yet  despatched  more  than 
twenty  dozen  of  the  "  natives." 

"  ^'here's  a  body,  my  lord,  washed  ashore  in  the 
lower  creek,"  said  the  Seneschal. 

The  Baron  was  going  to  throw  the  shells  at  his  head ; 
but  paused  in  the  act,  and  said  with  much  dignity, — 

"  Turn  out  the  fellow's  pockets  !" 

But  the  defunct  had  before  been  subjected  to  the 
double  scrutiny  of  Father  Fothergill,  and  the  Clerk  of 
St.  Bridget's.  It  was  ill  gleaning  after  such  hands; 
there  w^as  not  a  single  maravedi. 

We  have  already  said  that  Sir  Robert  de  Shurland, 
Lord  of  the  Isle  of  Sheppey,  and  of  many  a  fair  manor 
on  the  main-land,  was  a  man  of  worship.  He  had 
rights  of  freewarren,  saccage  and  sockage,  cuisage  and 
jambage,  fosse  and  fork,  infang  theofe  and  outfang 
theofe :  and  all  waifs  and  strays  belonged  to  him  in  fee 
simple. 

"  Turn  out  his  pockets  ! "  said  the  Knight. 

"An't  please  you,  my  lord,  I  must  say  as  how  they 
was  turned  out  afore,  and  the  devil  a  rap's  left." 

"  Then  bury  the  blackguard  ! " 

"  Please  your  lordship,  he  has  been  buried  once." 

"  Then  bury  him  again,  and  be ! "     The  BaroD 

bestowed  a  benediction. 


A    LEGEND    OF    SHEPPET.  '     77 

ITie  Seneschal  bowed  low  as  he  left  the  room,  and  the 
Baron  went  on  with  his  oysters. 

Scarcely  ten  dozen  more  had  vanished  when  Peri 
winkle  reappeared. 

"An't  please  you,  my  lord,  Father  Fothergill  says  as 
how  that  it's  the  Grinning  Sailor,  and  he  won't  bury 
him  anyhow." 

"  Oh !  he  won't — won't  he  ? "  said  the  Baron.  Can 
it  be  wondered  at  that  he  called  for  his  boots  ? 

Sir  Robert  Shurland,  Lord  of  Shurland  and  Minster, 
Baron  of  Sheppey  in  comitatu  Kent,  was,  as  has  been 
before  hinted,  a  very  great  man.  He  was  also  a  very 
little  man ;  that  is,  he  was  relatively  great,  and  rela- 
tively httle, — or  physically  little,  and  metaphorically 
great, — like  Sir  Sidney  Smith  and  the  late  Mr.  Bona- 
parte. To  the  frame  of  a  dwarf  he  united  the  soul  of 
a  giant,  and  the  valour  of  a  gamecock.  Then,  for  so 
small  a  man,  his  strength  was  prodigious  ;  his  fist  would 
fell  an  ox,  and  his  kick — oh !  his  kick  was  tremendous, 
and,  when  he  had  his  boots  on,  would, — to  use  an 
expression  of  his  own,  which  he  had  picked  up  in  the 
holy  wars, — would  "  send  a  man  fi*om  Jericho  to  J  une." 
He  was  bull-necked  and  bandy-legged ;  his  chest  was 
broad  and  deep,  his  head  large  and  uncommonly  thick, 
his  eyes  a  little  blood-shot,  and  his  nose  retrousse  with 
a  remarkably  red  tip.  Strictly  speaking,  the  Baron 
could  not  be  called  handsome:  but  his  tout  ensemble 
was  singularly  impressive :  and  when  he  called  for  his 
boots,  everybody  trembled  and  dreaded  the  woist. 

"  Periwinkle,"  said  the  Baron,  as  he  encased  his  better 
.eg,  "  let  the  grave  be  twenty  feet  deep ! " 

"  Your  lordship's  command  is  law." 


70 


GRKY    DOLPHIN. 


"  And,  Periwinkle," — Sir  Robert  stamped  liis  left  hee^ 
Into  its  receptacle, — "and,  Periwinkle,  see  that  it  be 
wide  enough  to  hold  not  exceeding  two  1 " 

"  Ye — ye — yes,  my  lord." 

"And,  Periwinkle,  tell  Father  Fothergill  I  would  fain 
speak  with  his  Reverence." 

"  Ye — ye — yes,  my  lord." 

The  Baron's  beard  Avas  peaked ;  and  his  mustaches, 
stiflf  and  stumpy,  projected  horizontally  like  those  of  a 
Tom  Cat ;  he  twirled  the  one,  he  stroked  the  other,  he 
drew  the  buckle  of  his  surcingle  a  thought  tighter,  and 
strode  down  the  great  staircase  three  steps  at  a  stride. 

The  vassals  were  assembled  in  the  great  hall  of  Shur- 
land  Castle ;  every  cheek  was  pale,  every  tongue  was 
mute :  expectation  and  perplexity  v/ere  visible  on  every 
brow.  What  would  his  lordship  do  ? — Were  the  recu- 
sant anybody  else,  gyves  to  the  heels  and  hemp  to  the 
throat  were  but  too  good  for  him  : — but  it  was  Father 
Fothergill  who  had  said  "  I  won't ; "  and  though  the 
Baron  was  a  very  great  man,  the  Pope  was  a  greater, 
and  the  pope  was  Father  Fothergill's  great  friend — soma 
people  said  he  was  his  uncle. 

Father  Fothergill  was  busy  in  the  refectory  trying 
conclusions  with  a  venison  pasty,  when  he  received  the 
summons  of  his  patron  to  attend  him  in  the  chapel 
cemetery.  Of  course  he  lost  no  time  in  obeying  it,  for 
obedience  was  the  general  rule  in  Shurland  Castle.  If 
any  body  ever  said  "  I  won't,"  it  was  the  exception  ; 
and,  like  all  other  exceptions,  only  proved  the  rule  the 
stronger.  The  Father  was  a  friar  of  the  Augustine  per- 
suasion ;  a  brotherhood  which,  having  been  planted  in 
Kent  some  few  centuries  earlier,  had  taken  very  kindly 


A    LEGEND    OF    SHEPPET.  79 

to  the  soil,  and  overspread  the  county  much  as  hops  did 
some  few  centuries  later.  He  was  plump  and  portly,  a 
little  thick-winded,  especially  after  dinner, — stood  five 
feel  four  m  his  sandals,  and  weighed  hard  upon 
eighteen  stone.  He  was  moreover  a  personage  of 
singular  piety ;  and  the  iron  girdle  which,  he  said,  he 
wore  under  his  cassock  to  mortify  withal,  might  have 
been  well  mistaken  for  the  tire  of  a  cart-wheel. — When 
he  arrived,  Sir  Robert  was  pacing  up  and  down  by  the 
side  of  a  newly  opened  grave. 

"  Benedicite  !  fair  son," — (the  Baron  was  as  brown  as 
a  cigar,) — "  Benedicite  !  "  said  the  Chaplain. 

The  Baron  was  too  angry  to  stand  upon  compliment. 
— "  Bury  me  that  grinning  caitiff  there !  "  quoth  he, 
pointing  to  the  defunct. 

"  It  may  not  be,  fair  son,"  said  the  Friar  ;  "  he  hath 
perished  without  absolution." 

"  Bury  the  body  !  "  roared  Sir  Robert. 

"  Water  and  earth  alike  reject  him,"  returned  the 
Chaplain  ;  "  holy  St.  Bridget  herself " 

"  Bridget  me  no  Bridgets ! — do  me  thine  office 
quickly.  Sir  Shaveling;  or,  by  the  Piper  that  played 

before  Moses  ! "     The  oath  was  a  fearful  one  ;  and 

whenever  the  Baron  swore  to  do  mischief,  he  was  never 
known  to  perjure  himself.  He  was  playing  with  the 
hilt  of  his  sword. — "  Do  me  thine  oflSce,  T  say.  Give 
him  his  passport  to  Heaven  ! " 

"He  is  already  gone  to  hell ! "  stammered  the  Friar. 

"  Then  do  you  go  after  him  ! "  thundered  the  Lord 
jf  Shurland. 

His  sword  half  leaped  from  its  scabbard.  No  ! — the 
trencliant  blade,  that  had  cut  Suleiman  Ben  Malek  Ben 


80  GREY    DOLPHIN. 

Buckskin  from  lielmet  to  cliine,  disdainea  to  daub  itseJt 
with  the  cerebellum  of  a  miserable  monk ; — it  leaped 
back  again ; — and  as  the  Chaplain,  scared  at  its  flash, 
turned  him  in  terror,  the  Baron  gave  him  a  kick  ! — one 
kick  ! — it  was  but  one  ! — but  such  a  one  !  Despite  its 
obesity,  up  flew  his  holy  body  in  an  angle  of  forty- 
five  degrees  ;  then,  having  reached  its  highest  point  ol 
elevation,  sunk  headlong  into  the  open  grave  that 
yawned  to  receive  it.  If  the  reverend  gentleman  hari 
possessed  such  a  thing  as  a  neck,  he  had  infallibly 
broken  it ;  as  he  did  not,  he  only  dislocated  his  verte- 
brae,— but  that  did  quite  as  well.  He  was  as  dead  as 
ditch-water ! 

"  In  with  the  other  rascal ! "  said  the  Baron, — and 
he  was  obeyed  ;  for  there  he  stood  in  his  boots.  Mat- 
tock and  shovel  made  short  work  of  it ;  twenty  feet  of 
superincumbent  mould  pressed  down  alike  the  saint  and 
the  sinner.  "  Now  sing  a  requiem  who  list !  "  said  the 
Baron,  and  his  lordship  went  back  to  his  oysters. 

The  vassals  at  Castle  Shurland  were  astounded,  or,  as 
the  Seneschal  Hugh  better  expressed  it,  "  perfectly  con- 
glomerated," by  this  event.  What !  murder  a  monk  in 
the  odour  of  sanctity, — and  on  consecrated  ground  too  ! 
— They  trembled  for  the  health  of  the  Baron's  soul. 
To  the  unsophisticated  many  it  seemed  that  matters 
could  not  have  been  much  worse  had  he  shot  a  bishop's 
coach-horse ; — all  looked  for  some  signal  judgment. 
Tlie  melancholy  catastrophe  of  their  neighbours  at  Can- 
terbury was  yet  rife  in  their  memories  :  not  two  centuries 
had  elapsed  since  those  miserable  sinners  had  cut  ofi"  the 
tail  of  the  blessed  St.  Thomas's  mule.  The  tail  of  the 
mule,  it  was  well  known,  had  been  forthwith  aSixed  to 


A    LEGEND    OF    SHErPEY.  81 

Jiat  of  the  mayor ;  and  rumour  said  it  had  since  been 
hereditary  in  the  corporation.  The  least  that  could  be 
expected  was,  that  Sir  Robert  should  have  a  friar  tacked 
on  to  his  for  the  term  of  his  natural  life !  Some  bolder 
spirits  there  were,  'tis  true,  who  viewed  the  matter  in 
various  lights,  according  to  their  difterent  temperaments 
and  dispositions ;  for  pe-rfect  unanimity  existed  not  even 
in  the  good  old  times.  The  verderer,  roistering  Rob 
Roebuck,  swore  roundly  "  'Twere  as  good  a  deed  as  eat 
to  kick  down  the  chapel  as  well  as  the  monk." — Hob 
had  stood  there  in  a  white  sheet  for  kissing  Giles  Miller's 
daughter.  On  the  other  hand,  Simpkin  Agnew,  the 
bell-ringer,  doubted  if  the  devil's  cellar,  which  runs 
under  the  bottomless  abyss,  were  quite  deep  enough  for 
the  delinquent,  and  speculated  on  the  probability  of  a 
hole  being  dug  in  it  for  his  especial  accommodation. 
The  philosophers  and  economists  thought,  with  Saunders 
McBullock,  the  Baron's  bagpiper,  that  "  a  feckless  monk 
more  or  less  was  nae  great  subject  for  a  clamjamphry," 
especially  as  "  the  supply  considerably  exceeded  the 
demand  ;"  while  Malthouse,  the  tapster,  was  arguing  to 
Dame  Martin  that  a  murder  now  and  then  was  a  season- 
able check  to  population,  without  wdiich  the  Isle  of 
Sheppey  would  in  time  be  devoured,  like  a  mouldy 
cheese,  by  inhabitants  of  its  own  producing. — ISIean- 
while,  the  Baron  ate  his  oysters  and  thought  no  more 
of  the  matter. 

But  this  tranquillity  of  his  lordship  was  not  to  last. 
A  couple  of  Saints  had  been  seriously  offended  ;  and  we 
have  all  of  us  read  at  school  that  celestial  minds  are  by 
BO  means  insensible  to  the  provocations  of  anger. 
There  were  those  who  expected  that  St.  Bridget  would 
4* 


82  GREY    DOLPHIN. 

come  m  person,  and  have  the  friar  up  again,  as  she  dia 
the  sailor ;  but  perhaps  her  ladyship  did  not  care  tc 
trust  herself  within  the  walls  of  Shurland  Castle.  To 
say  the  truth,  it  was  scarcely  a  decent  house  for  a  female 
Saint  to  be  seen  in.  The  Baron's  gallantries,  since  he 
became  a  widower,  had  been  but  too  notorious ;  and 
her  own  reputation  was  a  little  blown  upon  in  the  earlier 
days  of  her  earthly  pilgrimage  :  then  things  were  so  apt 
to  be  misrepresented  :  in  short,  she  would  leave  the 
whole  affair  to  St.  Austin,  who,  being  a  gentleman, 
could  interfere  with  propriety,  avenge  her  affront  as 
well  as  his  own,  and  leave  no  loop-hole  for  scandal.  St. 
Austin  himself  seems  to  have  had  his  scruples,  though 
their  precise  nature  it  would  be  difficult  to  determine, 
for  it  were  idle  to  suppose  him  at  all  afraid  of  the 
Baron's  boots.  Be  this  as  it  may,  the  mode  which  he 
adopted  was  at  once  prudent  and  efficacious.  As  an 
ecclesiastic,  he  could  not  well  call  the  Baron  out, — had 
his  boots  been  out  of  the  question  ; — so  he  resolved  to 
have  recourse  to  the  law.  Instead  of  Shurland  Castle, 
therefore,  he  repaired  forthwith  to  his  own  magnificent 
monastery,  situate  just  without  the  walls  of  Canterbury, 
and  presented  himself  in  a  vision  to  its  abbot.  No  one 
who  has  ever  visited  that  ancient  city,  can  fail  to  recol- 
lect the  splendid  gateway  which  terminates  the  vista  of 
St.  Paul's  street,  and  stands  there  yet  in  all  its  pristine 
beauty.  The  tiny  train  of  miniature  artillery  which  now 
adorns  its  battlements  is,  it  is  true,  an  ornament  of  a 
later  date  ;  and  is  said  to  have  been  added  some  centu- 
ries after  by  a  learned  but  jealous  proprietor,  for  the 
purp»-6e  of  shooting  any  wiser  man  than  himself  who 
niig>  K  chance  to  come  that  way.     Tradition  is  silent  t\s 


A    LEGEND    OF    SHEPPEV.  83 

to  any  discharge  having  taken  place,  nor  can  the  oldest 
inhabitant  of  modern  days  recollect  any  such  occur- 
rence.* Here  it  was,  in  a  handsome  chamber,  imme- 
diately over  the  lofty  archway,  that  the  Superior  of  the 
monastery  lay  buried  in  a  brief  slumber  snatched  from 
his  accustomed  vigils.  His  mitre — for  he  was  a  Mitred 
Abbot,  and  had  a  seat  in  parliament — rested  on  a  table, 
beside  him  ;  near  it  stood  a  silver  flagon  of  Gascony  wine, 
ready,  no  doubt,  for  the  pious  uses  of  the  morrow.  Fast- 
ing and  watching  had  made  him  more  than  usually 
somnolent,  than  which  nothing  could  have  been  better 
for  the  purpose  of  the  Saint,  who  now  appeared  to  him 
radiant  in  all  the  colours  of  the  rainbow. 

"  Anselm  !  "  —  said  the  beatific  vision,  —  "  Anselni ! 
are  you  not  a  pretty  fellow  to  lie  snoring  there,  when 
your  brethren  are  being  knocked  at  head,  and  Mother 
Church  hei-self  is  menaced  ! — It  is  a  sin  and  a  shame, 
Anselm ! " 

"  What's  the  matter  ? — Who  are  you  ? "  cried  the 
Abbot,  rubbing  his  eyes,  which  the  celestial  splendour 
of  his  visitor  had  set  a-winking.  '^  Ave  Maria !  St. 
Austin  him'self ! — Speak,  Beatissime  !  what  would  you 
with  the  humblest  of  your  votaries  ?" 

"  Anselm  !"  said  the  saint,  "  a  brother  of  our  order, 
whose  soul  Heaven  assoilzie  !  hath  been  foully  murdered. 
He  hath  been  ignominiously  kicked  to  the  death, 
Anselm  ;  and  there  he  lieth  cheek-by-jowl  with  a 
wretched  carcass,  which  our  sister  Bridget  has  turned 
out  of  her  cemetery  for  unseemly  grinning. — Arouse 
thee,  Anselm  !" 

*  Since  the  appearance  of  the  first  edition  of  this  Legend  "  the  guns" 
ittve  been  dismounted.  Rumour  hints  at  some  alarm  on  the  part  of  Ih* 
lowo  Council. 


84  GREY    DOLPHIN. 

"  Ay,  so  please  you,  SancHssime  /"  said  the  Abbot ' 
"  I  will  order  forthwith  that  thirty  masses  be  said,  thirtj 
Paters,  and  thirty  Aves.^^ 

"  Thirty  fools'  heads !"  interrupted  his  patron,  who 
was  a  little  peppery. 

''  I  will  send  for  bell,  book,  and  candle — " 

"  Send  for  an  inkhorn,  Anselm. — Write  me  now  a 
letter  to  his  Holiness  the  Pope  in  good  round  terms, 
and  another  to  the  Coroner,  and  another  to  the  Sheriff, 
and  seize  me  the  never-enough-to-be  anathematised 
villain  wdio  hath  done  this  deed  !  Hang  him  as  high 
as  Haman,  Anselm  ! — up  with  him  ! — down  with  his 
dwelling-place,  root  and  branch,  hearthstone  and  roof- 
tree, — down  with  it  all,  and  sow  the  site  with  salt  and 
sawdust !" 

St.  Austin,  it  will  be  perceived,  was  a  radical 
reformer. 

"  Mai-ry  will  I,"  quoth  the  Abbot,  warming  with  the 
Saint's  eloquence  ;  "  ay,  marry  will  I,  and  that  instanter. 
But  there  is  one  thing  you  have  forgotten,  most  Beati- 
fied— the  name  of  the  culprit." 

"  Robert  de  Shurland." 

"  The  Lord  of  Sheppey  !  Bless  me  !  "  said  the 
Abbot,  crossing  himself,  "  won't  that  be  rather  incon- 
venient ?  Sir  Robert  is  a  bold  baron,  and  a  powerful ; 
■ — blows  will  come  and  go,  and  crowns  will  be  cracked, 
and " 

"  What  is  that  to  you,  since  yours  will  not  be  of  the 
number  ?" 

"  Very  true,  Beatissime  ! — I  will  don  me  with  speed, 
dnd  do  your  bidding." 

"  Do  so.  Anselm  l^fail  not  to  hano^  the  baron,  bum 


A    LEGEND    OF    SHEPPEY.  85 

his  castle,  confiscate  his  estate,  and  buy  me  two  large 
wax  candles  for  my  own  particular  shrine  out  of  your 
share  of  the  property." 

With  this  solemn  injunction  the  vision  began  to  fade. 

"  One  thing  more !"  cried  the  Abbot,  grasping  his 
rosary. 

"  What  is  that  ?"  asked  the  Saint. 

"  0  Beate  Augustine^  ora  pro  nobis  /" 

"  Of  course  I  shall,"  said  St.  Austin.  "  Pax  vohiscum .'" 
— and  Abbot  Anselm  was  left  alone. 

Within  an  hour  all  Canterbury  was  in  commotion. 
A  friar  had  been  murdered, — two  friars — ten — twenty ; 
a  whole  convent  had  been  assaulted, — sacked, — burnt, 
— all  the  monks  had  been  killed,  and  all  the  nuns  had 
been  kissed  ! — Murder  ! — fire  ! — Sacrilege  !  Never  was 
a  city  in  such  an  uproar.  From  St.  George's  gate  to 
St.  Dunstan's  suburb,  from  the  Donjon  to  the  borough 
of  Staplegate,  all  was  noise  and  hubbub.  "  Where  was 
it  ?"— "  When  was  it  ? "— "  How  was  it  ?"  The  mayor 
caught  up  his  chain,  the  Aldermen  donned  their  furred 
gowns,  the  Town-clerk  put  on  his  spectacles.  "  Who 
was  he  ?"— "  What  was  he  ?  "— "  Where  was  he  ?"— he 
should  be  hanged, — he  should  be  burned, — he  should 
be  broiled, — he  should  be  fried, — he  should  be  scraped 
to  death  with  red-hot  oyster  shells  !  "  Who  was  he  ? " 
— "  What  was  his  name  ?" 

The  Abbot's  Apparitor  drew  forth  his  roll  and  read 
aloud  : — "  Sir  Robert  de  Shurland,  Knight  banneret, 
Baron  of   Shurland  and  Minster,  and  Lord  of  Shep- 

The  Mayor  put  his  chain  in  his  pocket,  the  Aldermen 
took  ofi"  their  gowns,  the  Town-clerk  put  his  pen  behind 


86  GREY   DOLPHIN. 

his  ear. — It  was  a  county  business  altogether: — tht 
Sheriff  had  better  call  out  the  posse  comitatus. 

While  saints  and  sinners  were  thus  leaguing  against 
him,  the  Baron  de  Shurland  was  quietly  eating  his 
breakfast.  He  had  passed  a  tranquil  night,  undisturbed 
by  dreams  of  cowl  or  capuchin ;  nor  was  his  appetite 
more  affected  than  his  conscience.  On  the  contrary,  he 
sat  rather  longer  over  his  meal  than  usual;  luncheon- 
time  came,  and  he  was  ready  as  ever  for  his  oysters: 
but  scarcely  had  Dame  Martin  opened  his  first  half-dozen 
when  the  warder's  horn  was  heard  from  the  barbican. 

"Who  the  devil's  that  ?"  said  Sir  Robert.  "  I'm  not 
at  home,  Periwinkle.  I  hate  to  be  disturbed  at  meals, 
and  I  won't  be  at  home  to  anybody." 

"  An't  please  your  lordship,"  answered  the  Seneschal, 
**  Paul  Prior  hath  given  notice  that  there  is  a  body ^" 

"Another  body!"  roared  the  Baron.  "Am  I  to  be 
everlastingly  plagued  with  bodies  ?  No  time  allowed 
me  to  swallow  a  morsel.     Throw  it  into  the  moat !" 

"  So  please  you,  my  lord,  it  is  a  body  of  horse — and 
— and  Paul  says  there  is  a  still  larger  body  of  foot 
behind  it ;  and  he  thinks,  my  lord, — that  is,  he  does 
not  know,  but  he  thinks — and  we  all  think,  my  lord, 
that  they  are  coming  to — to  besiege  the  castle  !" 

"  Besiege  the  castle  !     Who  ?     What  ?     What  for  ?" 

"  Paul  says,  my  lord,  that  he  can  see  the  banner  of 
St.  Austin,  and  the  bleeding  heart  of  Hamo  de  Creve- 
coeur,  the  Abbot's  chief  vassal ; — and  there  is  John  de 
North  wood,  the  sheriff,  with  his  red-cross  engrailed ;  and 
Hever,  and  Leybourne,  and  Heaven  knows  how  many 
more  ;  and  they  are  all  coming  on  as  fast  as  ever  they 
■can." 


A    LEGEND    OF    SHEPPKY.  8? 

**  I'e^i^vinkle,"  said  the  Baron,  "  up  with  the  draw- 
bridge ;  down  with  the  portcullis ;  bring  me  a  cup  of 
canary,  and  my  nightcap.  I  won't  be  bothered  with 
them.     I  shall  go  to  bed." 

"  To  bed,  my  lord  ?"  cried  Periwinkle,  with  a  look 
that  seemed  to  say,  "  He's  crazy !" 

At  this  moment  the  shrill  tones  of  a  trumpet  were 
heard  to  sound  thrice  from  the  champaign.  It  was  the 
signal  for  parley :  the  Baron  changed  his  mind  ;  instead 
of  going  to  bed  he  went  to  the  ramparts. 

"  Well,  rapscallions  !  and  what  now  ! "  said  the 
Baron. 

A  herald,  two  pui-suivants,  and  a  trumpeter,  occupied 
the  foreground  of  the  scene  ;  behind  them,  some  three 
hundred  paces  off,  upon  a  rising  ground,  was  drawn 
up  in  battle  array  the  main  body  of  the  ecclesiastical 
forces. 

"  Hear  you,  Robert  de  Shurland,  Knight,  Baron  of 
Shurland  and  Minster,  and  Lord  of  8heppey,  and 
know  all  men  by  these  presents,  that  I  do  hereby 
attach  you,  the  said  Robert,  of  murder  and  sacrilege, 
now,  or  of  late,  done  and  committed  by  you,  the  said 
Robert,  contrary  to  the  peace  of  our  Sovereign  Lord 
the  King,  his  crown  and  dignity  :  and  I  do  hereby 
require  and  charge  you  the  said  Robert,  to  forthwith 
surrender  and  give  up  your  own  proper  person,  toge- 
ther with  the  castle  of  Shurland  aforesaid,  in  order 
that  the  same  may  be  duly  dealt  with  according  to  law. 
And  here  standeth  John  de  Northwood,  Esquire,  good 
man  and  true,  sheriff  of  this  his  Majesty's  most  loyal 
county  of  Kent,  to  enforce  the  same,  if  need  be,  with 
liis  posse  comitatus — " 


88  GREY   DOLPHIN. 

"  His  what  ?"  said  the  Baron. 
"  His  posse  comiiatus,  and " 


"  Go  to  Bath  !"  said  the  Baron. 

A  defiance  so  contemptuous  roused  the  ire  of  the 
adverse  commanders.  A  volley  of  missiles  rattled 
about  the  Baron's  ears.  Nightcaps  avail  little  against 
contusions.  He  left  the  walls,  and  returned  to  the 
great  hall. 

"  Let  them  pelt  away,"  quoth  the  Baron :  "  there  are 
no  windows  to  break,  and  they  can't  get  in." — So  he 
took  his  afternoon  nap,  and  the  siege  went  on. 

Towards  evening  his  lordship  awoke,  and  grew  tired 
of  the  din.  Guy  Pearson,  too,  had  got  a  black  eye  from  a 
brick-bat,  and  the  assailants  were  clambering  over  the 
outer  wall.  So  the  Baron  called  for  his  Sunday  hau- 
berk of  Milan  steel,  and  his  great  two-handed  sword 
with  the  terrible  name : — it  was  the  fashion  in  feudal 
times  to  give  names  to  swords :  King  Arthur's  was 
christened  Excalibar ;  the  Baron  called  his  Tickletoby, 
and  whenever  he  took  it  in  hand  it  was  no  joke. 

"  Up  with  the  portcullis !  down  with  the  bridge  !"  said 
Sir  Robert ;  and  out  he  sallied,  followed  by  the  elite  of 
his  retainers.  Then  there  was  a  pretty  to-do.  Heads 
flew  one  way — arms  and  legs  another;  round  went 
Tickletoby ;  and,  wherever  it  alighted,  down  came  horse 
and  man :  the  Baron  excelled  himself  that  day.  All 
that  he  had  done  in  Palestine  faded  in  the  comparison ; 
lie  had  fought  for  fun  there,  but  now  it  was  for  life  and 
lands.  Away  went  John  de  North  wood;  away  went 
William  of  Hever,  and  Roger  of  Ley  bourne.  Hamo 
de  Crevecoeur,  with  the  church  vassals  and  the  banner 
of  St.  Austin,  had  been  gone  some  time.  The  siege  wa? 


A    LEGEND    OF    SHEPPEY.  89 

raised,  and  the  Lord  of  Sheppey  was  left  alone  in  his 
glory. 

But,  brave  as  the  Baron  undoubtedly  was,  and  total 
as  had  been  the  defeat  of  his  enemies,  it  cannot  be  sup- 
posed that  La  S toccata  would  be  allowed  to  carry  it 
away  thus.  It  has  before  been  hinted  that  Abbot  An- 
selm  had  written  to  the  Pope,  and  Boniface  the  Eighth 
piqued  himself  on  his  punctuality  as  a  correspondent  in 
all  matters  connected  with  church  discipline.  He  sent 
back  an  answer  by  return  of  post ;  and  by  it  all  Chris- 
tian people  were  strictly  enjoined  to  aid  in  exterminat- 
ing the  offender,  on  pain  of  the  greater  excommunica- 
tion in  this  world,  and  a  million  of  years  of  purgatory 
in  the  next.  But  then,  again,  Boniface  the  Eighth  was 
rather  at  a  discount  in  England  just  then.  He  had 
affi'onted  Ix)ngshanks,  as  the  loyal  lieges  had  nicknamed 
their  monarch  ;  and  Longshanks  had  been  rather  sharp 
upon  the  clergy  in  consequence.  If  the  Baron  de  Shur- 
land  could  but  get  the  King's  pardon  for  what,  in  his 
cooler  moments,  he  admitted  to  be  a  peccadillo,  he 
might  sniff  at  the  Pope,  and  bid  him  "  do  his  devil- 
most." 

Fortune,  who,  as  the  poet  says,  delights  to  favour  the 
bold,  stood  his  friend  on  this  occasion.  Edward  had 
been,  for  some  time,  collecting  a  large  force  on  the 
coast  of  Kent,  to  carry  on  his  French  wars  for  the 
recovery  of  Guienne ;  he  was  expected  shortly  to  review 
it  in  person;  but,  then,  the  troops  lay  principally  in 
cantonments  about  the  mouth  of  the  Thames,  and  hia 
Majesty  was  to  come  down  by  water.  What  was  to  be 
done? — the  royal  barge  was  in  sight,  and  John  de 
North  wood  and  Hamo  de  Crevecoeur  had  broken  up  all 


90  GREY    DOLPHIN. 

tlie  boats  to  boil  their  camp-kettles.  A  truly  great 
mind  is  never  without  resources. 

"  Bring  me  my  boots !"  said  the  Baron. 

They  brought  him  his  boots,  and  his  dapple-grey 
steed  along  with  them.  Such  a  courser  !  all  blood  and 
bone,  short-backed,  broad-chested,  and, — but  that  he 
was  a  little  ewe-necked, — faultless  in  form  and  figure. 
The  Baron  sprang  upon  his  back,  and  dashed  at  once 
into  the  river. 

The  barge  which  carried  Edward  Longshanks  and 
his  fortunes  had  by  this  time  nearly  reached  the  Nore ; 
the  stream  was  broad  and  the  current  strong,  but  Sir 
Robert  and  his  steed  were  almost  as  broad,  and  a  great 
deal  stronger.  After  breasting  the  tide  gallantly  for  a 
couple  of  miles,  the  Knight  was  near  enough  to  hail  the 
steersman. 

"  What  have  we  got  here  ?"  said  the  King.  "  It's  a 
mermaid,"  said  one.  "  It's  a  grampus,"  said  another. 
"It's  the  devil,"  said  a  third.  But  they  were  all 
wrong ;  it  was  only  Robert  de  Shurland.  "  Grammercy," 
quoth  the  King,  "that  fellow  was  never  born  to  be 
drowned  1 " 

It  has  been  said  before  that  the  Baron  had  fought  in 
the  Holy  wars ;  in  fact,  he  had  accompanied  Long- 
shanks,  when  only  heir  apparent,  in  his  expedition 
twenty-five  years  before,  although  his  name  is  unac- 
countably omitted  by  Sir  Harris  Nicolas  in  his  list  of 
crusaders.  He  had  been  present  at  Acre  when  Amirand 
of  Joppa  stabbed  the  prince  with  a  poisoned  dagger, 
and  had  lent  Princess  Eleanor  his  own  tooth-brush  after 
she  had  sucked  out  the  venom  from  the  wound.  He 
had  slain  certain  Saracens,  conterted  himself  with  his 


A    LEGEXD    OF    SHEPPEY.  91 

own  plunder,  and  never  dunned  the  commissariat  foi 
arrears  of  pay.  Of  coui-se  he  ranked  high  in  Edward'^ 
good  graces,  and  had  received  the  honour  of  knight- 
hood at  his  hands  on  the  field  of  battle. 

In  one  so  circumstanced  it  cannot  be  supposed  that 
such  a  trifle  as  the  killing  of  a  trowzy  friar  would  be 
much  resented,  even  had  he  not  taken  so  bold  a  mea- 
sure to  obtain  his  pardon.  His  petition  was  granted,  of 
course,  as  soon  as  asked ;  and  so  it  would  have  been 
had  the  indictment  drawn  up  by  the  Canterbury  town 
clerk,  viz.  "  That  he  the  said  Robert  de  Shurland,  &c. 
had  then  and  there,  with  several,  to  wit,  one  thousand 
pairs  of  boots,  given  sundry,  to  wit,  two  thousand  kicks, 
and  therewith  and  thereby  killed  divers,  to  wit,  ten 
thousand,  Austin  friars,"  been  true  to  the  letter. 

Thrice  did  the  gallant  grey  circumnavigate  the  barge, 
while  Robert  de  Winchelsey,  the  chancellor,  and  arch- 
bishop to  boot,  was  making  out,  albeit  with  great  reluc- 
tance, the  royal  pardon.  The  interval  was  sufficiently  | 
long  to  enable  His  Majesty,  who,  gracious  us  he  was, 
had  always  an  eye  to  business,  just  to  hint  that  the  gra- 
titude he  felt  towards  the  Baron  was  not  unmixed  with 
a  lively  sense  of  services  to  come ;  and  that,  if  life  were 
now  spared  him,  common  decency  must  obhge  him  to 
make  himself  useful.  Before  the  archbishop,  who  had 
scalded  his  fingers  with  the  wax  in  affixing  the  great 
seal,  had  time  to  take  them  out  of  his  mouth,  all  was 
settled,  and  the  Baron  de  Shurland  had  pledged  him- 
self to  be  forthwith  in  readiness,  cum  suis,  to  accom- 
pany his  liege  lord  to  Guienne. 

With  the  royal  pardon  secured  in  his  vest,  boldly  did 
bis  lordship  turn  again  to  the  shore ;  and  as  boldly  did 


92  GREY    DOLPHIN. 

his  courser  oppose  his  breadth  of  chest  to  the  stream, 
It  was  a  work  of  no  common  difficulty  or  danger ;  a 
steed  of  less  "  metal  and  bone  "  had  long  since  sunk  in 
the  effort:  as  it  was,  the  Baron's  boots  were  full  of 
water,  and  Grey  Dolphin's  chamfrain  more  than  once 
dipped  beneath  the  wave.  The  convulsive  snorts  of  the 
noble  animal  showed  his  distress;  each  instant  they 
became  more  loud  and  frequent ;  when  his  hoof  touched 
the  strand,  and  "  the  horse  and  his  rider "  stood  once 
again  in  safety  on  the  shore. 

Rapidly  dismounting,  the  Baron  was  loosening  the 
girths  of  his  demi-pique,  to  give  the  panting  animal 
breath,  when  he  was  aware  of  as  ugly  an  old  woman 
as  he  had  ever  clapped  eyes  upon,  peeping  at  him  under 
the  horse's  belly. 

"  Make  much  of  your  steed,  Robert  Shurland  !  Make 
much  of  your  steed ! "  cried  the  hag,  shaking  at  him 
her  long  and  bony  finger.  "  Groom  to  the  hide  and 
corn  to  the  manger !  He  has  saved  your  life,  Robert 
Shurland,  for  the  nonce  ;  but  he  shall  yet  be  the  means 
of  your  losing  it,  for  all  that ! " 

The  Baron  started :  "  What's  that  you  say,  you  old 
? "     He  ran  round  by  his  horse's  tail ; — the  wo- 


man was  gone  1 

The  Baron  paused ;  his  great  soul  was  not  to  be 
shaken  by  triiies ;  he  looked  around  him,  and  solemnly 
ejaculated  the  word  "Humbug!" — then  slinging  the 
bridle  across  his  arm,  walked  slowly  on  in  the  direction 
of  the  castle. 

The  appearance,  and  still  more,  the  disappearance  of 
the  crone,  had  however  made  an  impression ;  every  step 
he  took  he  became  more  thoughtful.     "'T would  be 


A    LEGEND    OF    SHEPPET.  93 

deuced  provoking  though,  if  he  should  break  my  neck 
after  all."  He  turned,  and  gazed  at  Dolphin  with  the 
scrutinizing  eye  of  a  veterinary  surgeon.  "  I'll  be  shot 
if  he  is  not  groggy  ! "  said  the  Baron. 

With  his  lordship,  like  another  great  Commander, 
"  Once  to  be  in  doubt,  was  once  to  be  resolved  : "  it 
would  never  do  to  go  to  the  wars  on  a  rickety  prad. 
He  dropped  the  rein,  drew  forth  Tickletoby,  and  as  the 
enfranchised  Dolphin,  good  easy  horse,  stretched  out 
his  ewe-neck  to  the  herbage,  struck  off  his  head  at  a 
single  blow.  "  There,  you  lying  old  beldame  !  "  said  the 
Baron  ;  "  now  take  him  away  to  the  knacker's." 
***** 

Three  years  were  come  and  gone.  King  Edward's 
French  wars  were  over ;  both  parties,  having  fought  till 
they  came  to  a  stand-still,  shook  hands  ;  and  the  quarrel, 
as  usual,  was  patched  up  by  a  royal  marriage.  This 
happy  event  gave  his  Majesty  leisure  to  turn  his  atten- 
tion to  Scotland,  where  things,  through  the  intervention 
of  William  Wallace,  were  looking  rather  queerish.  As 
his  reconciliation  with  Philip  now  allowed  of  his  fight- 
ing the  Scotch  in  peace  and  quietness,  the  monarch  lost 
no  time  in  marching  his  long  legs  across  the  border, 
and  the  short  ones  of  the  Baron  followed  him  of  course. 
At  Falkirk,  Tickletoby  was  in  great  request ;  and,  in 
the  year  following,  we  find  a  contemporary  poet  hint- 
ing at  his  master's  prowess  under  the  walls  of  Caer- 
laverock, 

©btc  cus  fu  actifmfnp? 
Jli  beau  Bobcrt  Ue  Sfjurlant) 
laf  iant  seoft  sur  le  ri)e\)al 
"Me  s  mb  wt  Ijume  I  c  someille 


94  GRKY    DOLPHIN 

A  quatrain  which  Mr.  Simpkinson  transhites, 

'*  With  them  was  marching 
The  good  Robert  de  Shurland, 
Who,  when  seated  on  horseback, 
Does  not  resemble  a  man  asleep ! " 

So  thoroughly  awake,  indeed,  does  he  seem  to  hjivy 
proved  himself,  that  the  bard  subsequently  exclaims,  in 
an  extasy  of  admiration, 

Sf  fe  estofe  unc  pucelette 
Sp  Ii  tionrir  crur  rt  cots 
€:ant  est  tie  hi  bous  l(  rrcors 

♦'  If  I  were  a  young  maiden, 
I  would  give  my  heart  and  person, 
So  great  is  his  lame  ! " 

Fortunately  the  poet  was  a  tough  old  monk  of  Exeter 
since  such  a  present  to  a  nobleman,  now  in  his  grand 
climacteric,  would  hardly  have  been  worth  the  carriage 
With  the  reduction  of  this  stronghold  of  the  Maxwells 
seem  to  have  concluded  the  Baron's  military  services ; 
as  on  the  very  first  day  of  the  fourteenth  century  we 
find  him  once  more  landed  on  his  native  shore,  and 
marching,  with  such  of  his  retainers  as  the  wars  ha-i 
left  him,  towards  the  hospitable  shelter  of  Shurland 
Castle.  It  was  then,  upon  that  very  beach,  some  hun- 
dred yards  distant  from  high-water  mark,  that  his  eye 
fell  upon  something  like  an  ugly  old  woman  in  a  red 
cloak !  She  was  seated  on  what  seemed  to  be  a  larg*, 
stone,  in  an  interesting  attitude,  with  her  elbows  resting 
upon  her  knees,  and  her  chin  upon  her  thumbs.  The 
Baron  started :  the  remembrance  of  his  interview 
with  a  similar  personage  in  the  same  place,  some  thro€ 


A    LEGEND    OF    BHEFPEV.  05 

years  since,  flashed  upon  his  recollection,  ile  rushed 
towards  the  spot,  but  the  form  was  gone ;—  notliing 
remained  but  the  seat  it  had  appeared  to  occupy.  This, 
on  examination,  turned  out  to  be  no  stone,  but  the 
whitened  skull  of  a  dead  horse ! — A  tender  remem 
brance  of  the  deceased  Grey  Dolphin  shot  a  momentary 
pang  into  the  Baron's  bosom ;  he  drew  the  back  of  his 
hand  across  his  face ;  the  thought  of  the  hag's  predic- 
tion in  an  instant  rose,  and  banished  all  softer  emotions. 
In  utter  contempt  of  his  own  weakness,  yet  with  a 
tremour  that  deprived  his  redoubtable  kick  of  half 
its  wonted  force,  he  spurned  the  relic  with  his  foot. 
One  word  alone  issued  from  his  lips,  elucidatory  of  what 
was  passing  in  his  mind, — it  long  remained  imprinted 
on  the  memory  of  his  faithful  followers, — that  word 
was  "  Gammon  ! "  The  skull  bounded  across  the  beach 
till  it  reached  the  very  margin  of  the  stream ; — one 
instant  more  and  it  would  be  engulfed  for  ever.  At 
that  moment  a  loud  "  Ha !  ha !  ha ! "  was  distinctly 
heard  by  the  whole  train  to  issue  fi'om  its  bleached  and 
toothless  jaws :  it  sank  beneath  the  flood  in  a  horse  l^ugh ! 

Meanwhile  Sir  Robert  de  Shurland  felt  an  odd  sort  of 
sensation  in  his  right  foot.  His  boots  had  suffered  in 
the  wars.  Great  pains  had  been  taken  for  their  preser- 
vation. They  had  been  "soled"  and  "heeled"  more 
than  once; — had  they  been  "  goloshed,"  their  owner 
might  have  defied  Fate  !  Well  has  it  been  said  that 
"  there  is  no  such  thing  as  a  trifle."  A  nobleman's  life 
depended  upon  a  question  of  ninepence  ! 

The  Baron  marched  on  ;  the  uneasiness  in  his  foot 
increased.  He  plucked  off"  his  boot ; — a  horse's  tooth 
was  sticking  in  his  great  toe  ' 


06  GREY    DOLPHIN. 

The  result  may  be  anticipated.  Lame  as  he  was,  his 
lordship,  with  characteristic  decision,  would  hobble  oc 
to  Shurland  ;  his  walk  increased  the  inflammation  ;  a 
flagon  of  aqua  vitoe  did  not  mend  matters.  He  was  in 
a  high  fever ;  he  took  to  his  bed.  Next  morning  the 
toe  presented  the  appearance  of  a  Bedfordshire  carrot ; 
by  dinner-time  it  had  deepened  to  beet-root ;  and  when 
Bargrave,  the  leech,  at  last  sliced  it  off",  the  gangrene 
was  too  confirmed  to  admit  of  remedy.  Dame  Martin 
thought  it  high  time  to  send  for  Miss  Margaret,  who, 
ever  since  her  mother's  death,  had  been  living  with  her 
maternal  aunt,  the  abbess,  in  the  Ursuline  convent  at 
Greenwich.  The  young  lady  came,  and  with  her  came 
one  Master  Ingoldsby,  her  cousin-german  by  the  mother's 
side  ;  but  the  Baron  was  too  far  gone  in  the  dead- 
thaw  to  recognise  either.  He  died  as  he  lived,  uncon- 
quered  and  unconquerable.     His  last  words  were — "  Tell 

the  old  hag  she  may  go  to ."     Whither  remains  a 

secret.  He  expired  without  fully  articulating  the  place 
of  her  destination. 

But,  who  and  what  ivas  the  crone  who  prophesied  the 
catastroplie  ?  Ay,  "  that  is  the  mystery  of  this  won- 
derful history." — Some  say  it  was  Dame  Fothergill,  the 
late  confessor's  mamma ;  others,  St.  Bridget  herself ; 
others  thought  it  was  nobody  at  all,  but  only  a  phantom 
conjured  up  by  conscience.  As  we  do  not  know,  we 
dechne  giving  an  opinion. 

And  what  became  of  the  Clerk  of  Chatham  ? — Mr. 
Simpkinson  avers  that  he  lived  to  a  good  old  age,  and 
was  at  last  hanged  by  Jack  Cade,  with  his  inkhorn 
about  his  neck,  for  "  setting  boys  copies."  In  support 
of  this  he  adduces  his  name  "Emmanuel,"  and  refers  tc 


A    LEGEND    OF   SHEPPET.  97 

the  historian  Shakspeare.  Mr.  Peters,  on  the  contrary, 
considers  this  to  be  what  he  calls  one  of  Mr.  Sinipkin- 
son's  "  Anacreonisms/'  inasmuch  as,  at  the  introduction 
of  Mr.  Cade's  reform  measure,  the  Clerk,  if  alive,  would 
have  been  hard  upon  two  hundred  years  old.  The 
probability  is,  that  the  unfortunate  alluded  to  was  his 
great-grand  son. 

Margaret  Shurland  in  due  course  became  Margaret 
Ingoldsby,  her  portrait  still  hangs  in  the  gallery  at  Tap- 
pington.  The  features  are  handsome,  but  shrewish,  be- 
traying, as  it  were,  a  touch  of  the  old  Baron's  tempera- 
ment ;  but  we  never  could  learn  that  she  actually  kicked 
her  husband.  She  brought  him  a  very  pretty  fortune 
in  chains,  owches,  and  Saracen  ear-rings  ;  the  barony, 
being  a  male  fief,  reverted  to  the  Crown. 

In  the  abbey-church  at  Minster  may  yet  be  seen  the 
tomb  of  a  recumbent  warrior,  clad  in  the  chain-mail  of 
the  13th  century.*  His  hands  are  clasped  in  prayer; 
his  legs,  crossed  in  that  position  so  prized  by  Templars 
in  ancient,  and  tailors  in  modern,  days,  bespeak  him  a 
soldier  of  the  faith  in  Palestine.  Close  behind  his  dex- 
ter calf  lies  sculptured  in  bold  relief  a  horse's  head ; 
and  a  respectable  elderly  lady,  as  she  shews  the  monu- 
ment, fails  not  to  read  her  auditors  a  fine  moral  lesson 
I  on  the  sin  of  ingratitude,  or  to  claim  a  sympathising 
tear  to  the  memory  of  poor  "  Grey  Dolphin  !" 

♦  Subsequent  to  the  first  .ippearance  of  the  foregoing  narrative,  the 
tomb  alluded  to  has  been  opened  during  the  course  of  certain  repairs  which 
the  church  has  undergone.  Mr.  Simpkinson,  who  was  present  at  the  ex- 
humation of  the  body  within,  and  has  enriched  his  collection  with  three  of 
its  grinders,  says  the  bones  of  one  of  the  great  toes  were  wanting.  He 
speaks  in  terms  of  great  admiration  at  the  thickness  of  the  skulL,  and  is  of 
opinion  that  the  skeleton  is  that  of  a  great  patriot  much  addicted  to  Lundy- 

Sriot. 


It  is  on  my  own  personal  reminiscences  that  I  draw 
tor  the  following  story  ;  the  scene  of  its  leading  event 
was  most  familiar  to  me  in  early  life.  If  the  principal 
actor  in  it  be  yet  living,  he  must  have  reached  a  very 
advanced  age.  He  was  often  at  the  Hall,  in  my  infancy, 
on  professional  visits.  It  is,  however,  only  from  those 
who  "prated  of  his  whereabouts"  that  I  learned  the 
history  of  his  adventure  with 


99 


THE  GHOST. 

There  stands  a  City, — neither  large  nor  small. 

Its  air  and  situation  sweet  and  pretty ; 
It  matters  very  little — if  at  all — 

Whether  its  denizens  are  dull  or  witty, 
Whether  the  ladies  there  are  short  or  tall. 

Brunettes  or  blondes,  only,  there  stands  a  city  I- 
Perhaps  'tis  also  requisite  to  minute 
That  there's  a  Castle  and  a  Cobbler  in  it. 

A  fair  Cathedral,  too,  the  story  goes, 

And  kings  and  heroes  lie  entomb'd  within  her ; 

There  pious  Saints  in  marble  pomp  repose, 

Whose  shrines  are  worn  by  knees  of  many  a  Sinner  ; 

There,  too,  full  many  an  Aldermauic  nose 
Roll'd  its  loud  diapason  after  dinner ; 

And  there  stood  high  the  holy  sconce  of  Becket, 

— ^TiU  four  assassins  came  from  France  to  crack  it 

The  Castle  was  a  huge  and  antique  mound, 
I*roof  against  all  th'  artillery  of  the  quiver, 

Ere  those  abominable  guns  were  found 

To  send  cold  lead  through  gallant  warrior's  liver. 

It  stands  upon  a  gently  rising  ground. 
Sloping  down  gradually  to  the  river. 

Resembling  (to  compare  great  things  with  smaller) 

A  well-scooped,  mouldy  Stilton  cheese, — ^but  taller. 

The  Keep,  I  find,  's  been  sadly  alter'd  lately, 

And,  'stead  of  mail-clad  knights,  of  honour  jealous, 

In  martial  panoply  so  grand  and  stately, 

Ite  walls  are  filled  with  'woney-making  fellows. 


100  THE    OUOST. 

And  stuiF'J,  unless  I  *m  misinformed  gi-eatly, 

"With  leaden  pipes,  and  coke,  and  coals,  and  bellows  j 
In  short,  so  great  a  change  has  come  to  pass, 
"Tis  now  a  manufactory  of  Gas. 

But  to  my  tale. — Before  this  profanation, 

And  ere  its  ancient  glories  were  cut  short  all, 

A  poor  hard-working  Cobbler  took  his  station 
In  a  small  house,  just  opposite  the  portal ; 

His  birth,  his  parentage,  and  education, 

I  know  but  little  of — a  strange,  o<ld  mortal  • 

His  aspect,  air,  and  gait,  were  all  ridiculous ; 

His  name  was  Mason — ^he'd  been  christened  Nicholas. 

Nick  had  a  wife  possessed  of  many  a  charm, 

And  of  the  Lady  Huntingdon  persuasion ; 
But,  spite  of  all  her  piety,  her  arm 

She'd  sometimes  exercise  when  in  a  passion ; 
And,  being  of  a  temper  somewhat  warm, 

Would  now  and  tlien  seize,  upon  small  occasion, 
A  stick,  or  stool,  or  anything  that  round  did  lie, 
And  baste  her  lord  and  master  most  confoundedly. 

No  matter ! — 'tis  a  thing  that's  not  uncommon, 

'Tis  what  we  all  have  heard,  and  most  have  read  of, — 

I  mean,  a  bruizing,  pugilistic  woman. 
Such  as  I  own  I  entertain  a  dread  of, 

—And  so  did  Nick, — whom  sometimes  there  would  come  on- 
A  sort  of  fear  his  Spouse  might  knock  his  head  off, 

Demolish  half  his  teeth,  or  drive  a  rib  in. 

She  shone  so  much  in  "  facers"  and  in  "  fibbing." 

nere's  time  and  place  for  all  things,"  said  a  sage, 
(King  Solomon,  I  think,)  and  this  I  can  say, 

Within  a  well-roped  ring,  or  on  a  stage, 
Boxing  may  be  a  very  pretty  Fancy, 

When  Messrs.  Burke  or  Bendigo  engage ; 
—Tis  not  so  well  in  Susan,  Jane,  or  Nancy :— 


rilE    OHOST.  101 

To  get  well  mill'd  by  any  one's  an  evil. 
But  by  a  lady — 'tis  the  very  DeviL 

And  so  thought  Nicholas,  whose  only  trouble, 
(At  least  his  worst),  was  this  his  rib's  propensity, 

For  sometimes  from  the  alehouse  he  would  hobblei, 
His  senses  lost  in  a  sublime  immensity 

Of  cogitation — then  he  couldn't  cobble — 

And  then  his  wife  would  often  try  the  density 

Of  his  poor  skull,  and  strike  with  all  her  might, 

As  fast  as  kitchen-wenches  strike  a  light. 

Mason,  meek  soul,  who  ever  hated  strife. 

Of  this  same  striking  had  a  morbid  dread, 
He  hated  it  like  poison — or  his  wife — 

A  vast  antipathy ! — but  so  he  said — 
And  very  often,  for  a  quiet  life. 

On  these  occasions  he'd  sneak  up  to  bed, 
Grope  darkling  in,  and,  soon  as  at  the  door 
He  heard  his  lady — he'd  pretend  to  snore. 

One  night,  then,  ever  partial  to  society, 

Nick,  with  a  friend  (another  jovial  fellow). 
Went  to  a  Clul)— I  should  have  said  Society— 

At  the  "  City  Arms,"  once  call'd  the  Porto-Bello 
A  Spouting  party,  which,  though  some  decry  it,  I 

Consider  no  bad  lounge  when  one  is  mellow ; 
There  they  discuss  the  tax  on  salt,  and  leather, 
And  change  of  ministers  and  change  of  weather. 

In  shorty  it  was  a  kind  of  British  Forum, 

Like  John  Gale  Jones's,  erst  in  Piccadilly, 
Only  they  managed  things  with  more  decorum. 

And  the  Orations  were  not  quite  so  silly ; 
Far  different  questions,  too,  would  come  before  'eiUj 

Not  always  Politics,  which,  will  ye  nill  ye. 
Their  London  prototypes  were  always  willing, 
To  give  one  quantum  suff.  of — for  a  shilling. 


102  THE    GHOST. 

It  more  resembled  one  of  later  date, 

And  tenfold  talent,  as  I'm  told  in  Bov  Street, 

Where  kindlier  natured  souls  do  congregate, 

And,  though  there  are  who  deem  that  same  a  low  elreeU 

Yet,  I'm  assured,  for  frolicsome  debate 

And  genuine  humour  it's  surpassed  by  no  street^ 

When  the  "  Chief  Baron"  enters,  and  assumes 

To  "  rule"  o'er  mimic  "  Thesigers"  and  "  Broughams. 

Here  they  would  oft  forget  their  Rulers'  faults, 
And  waste  in  ancient  lore  the  midnight  taper. 

Inquire  if  Orpheus  first  produced  the  Waltz, 
How  Gas-lights  differ  from  the  Delphic  Vapour, 

Whether  Hippocrates  gave  Glauber's  Salts, 

And  what  the  Romans  wrote  on  ere  they'd  paper ; — 

This  night  the  subject  of  their  disquisitions 

Was  Ghosts,  Hobgoblins,  Sprites,  and  Apparitions. 

One  learned  gentleman,  "a  sage  grave  man," 

Talk'd  of  the  Gh'-st  in  Hamlet,  "  sheath'd  in  steel ;"—  . 

His  well-read  friend,  who  next  to  speak  began. 
Said,  "  That  was  Poetry,  and  nothing  real ;" 

A  third,  of  more  extensive  learning,  ran 

To  Sir  George  Villiers'  Ghost,  and  Mrs.  Yeal ; 

Of  sheeted  Spectres  spoke  with  shorten'd  breath, 

And  thrice  he  quoted  "  Drelincourt  on  Death." 

Nick  smoked,  and  smoked,  and  trembled  as  he  heard 
The  point  discussed,  and  all  they  said  upon  it, 

How,  frequently,  some  murder'd  man  appear'd. 
To  tell  his  wife  and  children  who  had  done  it; 

Or  how  a  Miser's  ghost,  with  grisly  beard, 

And  pale  lean  visage,  in  an  old  Scotch  bonnet, 

Wander'd  about  to  watch  his  buried  money  1 

When  all  at  once  Nick  heard  the  clock  strike  One, — ^he 

Sprang  from  his  seat,  not  doubting  but  a  lecture 
Impended  from  his  fond  and  faithful  She ; 


THE    GHOST.  103 

Nor  could  he  well  to  pardon  him  expttt  her, 
For  he  had  promised  to  "  be  home  to  tea ; ' 

But  having  luckily  the  key  o'  the  back  door, 
He  fondly  hoped  that,  unperceived,  he 

Might  creep  up  stairs  again,  pretend  to  doze. 

And  hoax  his  spouse  with  music  from  his  nose. 

Vain,  fruitless  hope — Tlie  wearied  sentinel 

At  eve  may  overlook  the  crouching  foe, 
Till  ere  his  hand  can  sound  the  alarum-bell. 

He  sinks  beneath  the  unexpected  blow  ; 
Before  the  whiskers  of  Grimalkin  fell, 

Wlien  slumbering  on  her  post,  the  mouse  may  go  ;— 
But  woman,  wakeful  woman,  's  never  weary, 
— ^Above  all,  when  she  waits  to  thump  her  deary. 

Soon  Mrs.  Mason  heard  the  well-known  tread ; 

She  heard  the  key  slow  creaking  in  the  door. 
Spied  through  the  gloom  obscure,  towards  the  bed 

Nick  creeping  soft,  as  oft  he  had  crept  before; 
When,  bang,  she  threw  a  something  at  his  head. 

And  Nick  at  once  lay  prostrate  on  the  floor ; 
While  she  exclaimed  with  her  indignant  face  on, — 
*'How  dare  you  use  your  wife  so,  Mr.  Mason? " 

Spare  we  to  tell  how  fiercely  she  debated. 

Especially  the  length  of  her  oration, — 
Spare  we  to  tell  how  Nick  expostulated. 

Roused  by  the  bump  into  a  good  set  passion. 
So  great,  that  more  than  once  he  execrated. 

Ere  he  crawl'd  into  bed  in  his  usual  fashion , 
— ^The  Muses  hate  brawls  ;  suffice  it  then  to  say. 
He  duck'd  beneath  the  clothes — and  there  he  lay! 

'Twaa  now  the  very  witching  time  of  night, 

When  churchyards  groan,  and  graves  give  up  their  d^ud 
And  many  a  mischievous,  enfranchised.  Sprite 

Had  long  since  burst  his  bonds  of  stone  or  lead. 


104  THE    GHOST. 

And  hurried  otf,  with  schoolboy-like  delight, 

To  play  his  pranks  near  some  poor  wretch's  bee 
Sleeping  perhaps  serenely  as  a  poi'poise, 
Nor  dreaming  of  this  fiendish  Habeas  Corpus. 

Not  so  our  Kicholas,  his  meditations 

Still  to  the  same  tremendous  theme  recurred. 
The  same  dread  subject  of  the  dark  narrations, 

Which,  back'd  with  such  authority,  he'd  heard 
Lost  in  his  own  horrific  contemplations, 

He  ponder'd  o'er  each  well-remember'd  word ; 
Wlien  at  his  bed's  foot,  close  beside  the  post, 

He  verily  believed  he  saw — a  Ghost  1 

Plain  and  more  plain  the  unsubstantial  Sprite 
To  his  astonished  gaze  each  moment  grew ; 

Ghastly  and  gaunt,  it  rear'd  its  shadowy  height^ 
Of  more  than  mortal  seeming  to  the  view. 

And  round  its  long,  thin,  bony  lingers  drew 
A  tatter'd  winding-sheet,  of  course  all  white  ;— 

The  moon  that  moment  peeping  through  a  cloud, 

Nick  very  plainly  sav/  it  through  the  shroudi 

And  now  those  matted  locks,  which  never  yet 
Had  yielded  to  the  comb's  unkind  divorce, 

Their  long-contracted  amity  forget, 
And  spring  asunder  with  elastic  force ; 

Nay,  e'en  the  very  cap,  of  texture  coarse. 

Whose  ruby  cincture  crown'd  that  brow  of  je' 

Uprose  m  agony — the  Gorgon's  head 

Was  but  a  type  of  Kick's  up-squatting  in  the  be-. 

From  every  pore  distiii'd  a  clammy  dew. 

Quaked  every  limb, — the  candle  too  no  doub"; 

£!n  regie,  would  have  burnt  extremely  blue, 
But  Nick  unluckily  had  put  it  out ; 

And  he,  though  naturally  bold  and  stout, 
In  short,  was  in  a  most  tremendous  stew; — 


THE    GHOST.  lOfi 

The  room  was  filled  with  a  sulphureous  smell. 
But  where  that  caiue  from  Mason  could  not  tell. 

All  motionless  the  Spectre  stood, — and  now 
Its  rev'rend  form  more  clearly  shone  coufest ; 

From  the  pale  cheek  a  beard  of  purest  snow 
Descended  o'er  its  venerable  breast ; 

The  thin  grey  hairs,  that  crown'd  its  furrow'd  brow, 
Told  of  years  long  gone  by. — An  awful  guest 

It  stood,  and  with  an  action  of  command, 

Beckon'd  the  Cobbler  with  its  wan  right  hand. 

"Wlience,  and  what  art  thou,  Execrable  Shape?  " 
Kick  might  have  cried,  could  he  have  found  a  tongue 

But  his  distended  jaws  could  only  gape, 
And  not  a  sound  upon  the  welkin  rung . 

His  gooseberry  orbs  seem'd  as  they  would  have  sprung 
Forth  from  their  sockets, — like  a  frightened  Ape 

He  sat  upon  his  haunches,  bolt  upright, 

And  shook,  and  grinn'd,  and  chatter'd  with  affright. 

A.nd  still  the  shadowy  finger,  long  and  lean, 
Now  beckon'd  Nick,  now  pointed  to  the  door; 

Ajid  many  an  ireful  glance,  and  frown,  between. 
The  angry  visage  of  the  Phantom  wore, 

A-S  if  quite  vex'd  that  Kick  would  do  no  more 
Than  stare,  without  e'en  asking,  "  What  d'ye  mean  f " 

Because,  as  we  are  told, — a  sad  old  joke  too, — 

Ghosts,  like  the  ladies,  "  never  speak  till  spoke  to." 

Cowards,  'tis  said,  in  certain  situations. 

Derive  a  sort  of  courage  from  despair, 
And  then  perform,  from  downright  desperation, 

Much  more  than  many  a  bolder  man  would  dare 
Kick  saw  the  Ghost  was  getting  in  a  passion. 

And  therefore,  groping  till  he  found  the  chair. 
Seized  on  his  awl,  crept  softly  out  of  bed. 
And  follow'd  quaking  where  the  Spectre  led. 
6* 


106  THE    GHOST. 

A.nd  down  the  winding  stair,  with  noiseless  tread, 
The  tenant  of  tlie  tomb  pass'd  slowly  on. 

Each  mazy  turning  of  the  humble  shed 
Seem'd  to  his  step  at  once  familiar  grown, 

So  safe  and  sure  the  labyrinth  did  he  tread 
As  though  the  domicile  had  been  his  own, 

Tliough  Nick  himself,  in  parsing  through  the  shofj, 

Had  almost  broke  his  nose  against  the  mop. 

Despite  its  wooden  bolt,  with  jarring  sound. 

The  door  upon  its  hinges  /pen  flew ; 
And  forth  the  Spirit  issued, — ^yet  around 

It  turn'd  as  if  its  follower's  fears  it  knew, 
And,  once  more  beckoning,  pointed  to  the  mound, 

The  antique  Keep,  on  which  the  bright  moon  threw 
With  such  effulgence  her  mild  silvery  gleam. 
The  visionary  form  seem'd  melting  in  her  beam. 

Beneath  a  pond'rous  archway's  sombre  shade, 
Where  once  the  huge  portcullis  swung  sublime, 

'Mid  ivied  battlements  in  ruin  laid. 
Sole,  sad  memorials  of  the  olden  time. 

The  Phantom  held  its  way, — and  though  afraid. 
Even  of  the  owls  that  sung  their  vesper  chime, 

Pale  Nicholas  pursued,  its  steps  attending, 

And  wondering  what  on  earth  it  all  would  end  in. 

Within  the  mouldering  fabric's  deep  recess 

At  length  they  reach  a  court  obscure  and  Jone  ; — 

It  seem'd  a  drear  and  desolate  wilderness. 
The  blacken'd  walls  with  i\'y  all  o'ergrown ; 

The  night-bird  shriek'd  her  note  of  wild  distress, 
Disturb'd  upon  her  solitary  throne, 

As  though  indignant  mortal  step  should  dare, 

So  led,  at  such  an  hour,  to  venture  there ! 

—The  Apparition  paused,  and  would  have  spoke 
Pointing  to  what  Nick  thought  an  iron  ring, 


THE    GHOST.  101 

But  then  a  noighbouring  chanticleer  awoke, 

And  loudly  'gan  his  early  matins  sing ; 
And  then  "  it  started  like  a  guilty  thing,'* 

As  that  shrill  clarion  the  silence  broke. 
— "We  know  how  much  dead  gentlefolks  eschew 
Tlie  appalling  sound  of  "  Cock-a-doodle-do  !" 

The  vision  was  no  more— and  Nick  alone — 
"  His  streamers  waving"  in  the  midnight  wind, 

"Which  through  the  ruins  ceased  not  to  groan ; 

— His  garment,  too,  was  somewhat  short  behind,— 

And,  worst  of  all,  he  knew  not  where  to  find 

The  ring, — which  made  him  most  his  fate  bemoau — 

The  iron  ring: — no  doubt  of  some  trap  door, 

'Neath  which  the  old  dead  Miser  kept  his  store. 

""VNTjat's  to  be  done?"  he  cried,  "'Twere  vam  to  stay 

Here  in  the  dark  without  a  single  clue — 
Oh,  for  a  candle  now,  or  moonlight  ray  ! 

'Fore  George,  I'm  vastly  puzzled  what  to  do," 
(Then  clapped  his  hand  behind)— "'Tis  chilly  too— 

I'll  mark  the  spot,  and  come  again  by  day. 
"What  can  I  mark  it  by  ? — Oh,  here's  the  wall — 
The  mortar's  yielding — Here  I'll  stick  my  awl !" 

Then  rose  from  earth  to  sky  a  withering  shriek, 

A  loud,  a  long  protracted  note  of  woe. 
Such  as  when  tempests  roar,  and  timbers  creak, 

And  o'er  the  side  the  masts  in  thunder  go ; 
"While  on  the  deck  resistless  billows  break. 

And  drag  their  victims  to  the  gulfs  below ; — 
Such  was  the  scream  when,  for  the  want  of  candle, 
Nick  Mason  drove  his  awl  in  up  to  the  handle. 

Scared  by  his  Lady's  heart-appalling  cry, 

Vanished  at  once  poor  Mason's  golden  dream — 

For  dream  it  was ; — and  all  his  visions  high. 

Of  wealth  aui  grandeur,  fled  before  that  scream — 


108  THE    GHOST. 

And  still  he  listens  with  averted  eye, 

When  gibing  neighbours  make  "  the  Ghost"  their  theme ; 
While  ever  from  that  horn-  they  all  declare 
That  Mrs.  Mason  used  a  cushion  in  her  chair  I 


Confound  not,  I  beseech  thee,  reader,  the  subject  of 
the  following  monody  with  the  hapless  hero  of  the  tea- 
urn,  Cupid,  of  "  Yow-Yow"-ing  memory.  Tray  was  an 
attached  favourite  of  many  years'  standing.  Most 
people  worth  loving  have  had  a  friend  of  this  kind ; 
Lord  Byron  says  he  "  never  had  but  one,  and  here  he 
(the  dog,  not  the  no])leman,)  lies  I" 


100 


THE   CYNOTAPH. 


Poor  Tray  ehurmant ! 
Poor  Tray  de  man  Ami ! 

Dog-bury,  and  yergert^ 

Oh  !  where  ehall  I  bury  my  poor  dog  Tray, 
Now  his  fleeting  breath  has  passed  away  ? — 
Seventeen  years  I  can  venture  to  say, 
Have  I  seen  him  gambol,  and  frolic,  and  play, 
Evermore  happy,  and  frisky,  and  gay, 
As  though  every  one  of  his  months  was  May, 
And  the  whole  of  his  life  one  long  holiday- 
Now  he's  a  lifeless  lump  of  clay, 
Oh  1  where  shall  I  bury  my  faithful  Tray  ? 

I  am  almost  tempted  to  think  it  hard 

That  it  may  not  be  there,  in  yon  sunny  churchyard, 

"Where  the  green  willows  wave 

O'er  the  peaceful  grave, 
Which  holds  all  that  once  was  honest  and  brave, 
Kind,  and  courteous,  and  faithful,  and  true ; 
Qualities,  Tray,  that  were  found  in  yoiu 
But  it  may  not  be — yon  sacred  ground. 
By  holiest  feelings  fenced  around, 
May  ne'er  within  its  hallow'd  bound 
Receive  the  dust  of  a  soul-less  hound. 

I  would  not  place  him  in  yonder  fane, 

Where  the  mid-day  sun  through  the  storied  pan« 

Throws  on  the  pavement  a  crimson  stain ; 


110 


THE    CYNOTAPH. 


Where  the  banners  of  chivalry  heavily  swing 
O'er  the  pinnacled  tomb  of  the  Warrior  King, 
With  helmet  and  shield,  and  all  that  sort  of  thing. 
No !  come  what  may, 
My  gentle  Tray 
Shan't  be  an  intruder  on  bluff  Harry  Tudor, 
Or  panoplied  monarchs  yet  earlier  and  ruder 
Whom  you  see  on  their  backs, 
In  stone  or  in  wax, 
Though  the  Sacristans  now  are  "  forbidden  to  ax" 
For  what  Mister  Hume  calls  "  a  scandalous  tax ;" 
While  the  Chartists  insist  they've  a  right  to  go  snacka*— 
No  ! — ^IVay's  humble  tomb  would  look  but  shabby 
'Mid  the  sculptured  shrines  of  that  gorgeous  Abboy. 
Besides,  in  the  place 
They  say  there's  not  space 
To  bury  what  wet-nurses  call  "  a  Babby." 
Even  "Rare  Ben  Jonson,"  that  famous  wight, 
I  am  told,  is  interr'd  there  bolt  upright, 
In  just  such  a  posture,  beneath  his  bust. 
As  Tray  used  to  sit  in  to  beg  for  a  crust. 
The  epitaph,  too, 
Would  scarcely  do 
For  what  could  it  say,  but  "  Here  lies  Tray, 
A  very  good  kind  of  a  dog  in  his  day  ?" 
And  satirical  folks  might  be  apt  to  imagine  it 
Meant  as  a  quiz  on  the  House  of  Plantagenet. 

No !  no ! — The  abbey  may  do  very  well 

For  a  feudal  "  Nob,"  or  poetical  "  Swell," 

•'  Crusaders,"  or  "  Poets,"  or  "  Knights  of  St.  John,** 

Or  Knights  of  St.  John's  Wood,  who  once  went  on 

To  the  €astle  of  eSootje  aorlre  ISfllinfltonnc* 

Count  Fiddle-fumkin,  and  Lord  Fiddle  faddle, 

"Sir  Craven,"  "Sir  Gael,"  and  "Sir  Campbell  of  Sadde^' 

(Who,  as  poor  Hook  said,  when  he  heard  of  the  feat» 

•*  Was  somehow  knock'd  out  of  his  family-scat ;  ** 


THE    CYNOTAPH.  Ill 

The  Esquires  of  the  body 

To  my  Lord  Tomnoddy ; 
♦Sir  Fairlie,"  "Sir  Lamb," 
And  the  "  Knight  of  the  Ram," 
The  "Knight  of  the  Rose,"  and  the  "Knight  of  the  Dragon," 

Who,  save  at  the  flagon, 

And  prog  in  the  wagon. 
The  newspapers  tell  us  did  little  "  to  brag  on  ;  " 
And  more,  though  the  Muse  knows  but  little  concerning  'em, 
"Sir  Hopkins,"  "Sir  Popkins,"  "Sir  Gage,"  and  "Sir  Jerning 

ham." 
All  Preuz  Chevaliers,  in  friendly  rivalry 
Who  should  best  bring  back  the  glory  of  Chi-valry. — 
— (Pray  be  so  good,  for  the  sake  of  my  song, 
To  pronoimce  here  the  ante-penultimate  long ; 
Or  some  hyper-critic  will  certainly  cry, 
'♦  The  word  '  Chivalry '  is  but  a  '  rhyme  to  the  eye.'  ** 

And  I  own  it  is  clear 

A  fastidious  ear 
Will  be,  more  or  less,  always  annoy'd  with  you  when  you  in 
sert  any  rhyme  that 's  not  perfectly  genuine. 

As  to  pleasing  the  "  eye  " 

'Tisn't  worth  while  to  try, 
Since  Moore  and  Tom  Campbell  themselves  admit  "  Spinach  " 
Is  perfectly  antiphonetic  to  "  Greenwich.") — 
But  stay! — I  sayl — 
Let  me  pause  while  I  may — 
This  digression  is  leading  me  sadly  astray 
From  my  object — A  grave  for  my  poor  dog  Trayl 

[  would  not  place  him  beneath  thy  walls. 

And  proud  o'ershadowing  dome,  St.  Paul's  I 

Though  I  've  always  consider'd  Sir  Christopher  Wren, 

As  an  architect^  one  of  the  greatest  of  men ; 

And, — talking  of  Epitaphs, — Much  I  admire  hia, 

"  Circumspice,  si  Monumentum  requiris ;  " 

Wliich  an  erudite  Verger  translated  to  me, 

"  If  vou  ask  for  his  monumeat,  Sir-come-spy-ice  ! — * 


112  THE    CiTNOTAPn. 

No ! — I  should  not  know  where 

To  place  him  there ; 
I  woiild  not  have  him  by  surly  Johnson  be ; — 
Or  that  queer-looking  horse  that  is  rolling  on  Ponsonby  ;— 

Or  those  ugly  minxes 

The  sister  Sphynxes, 
Mix'd  creatures,  half  lady,  half  lioness,  ergo, 
(Denon  says,)  the  emblems  of  Leo  and  Virgo  ; 
On  one  of  the  backs  of  which  singular  jumble, 
Sir  Ralph  Abercrorabie  is  going  to  tumble, 
With  a  thump  which  alone  were  enough  to  desjiateh  him, 
If  the  Scotchman  in  front  shouldn't  happen  to  catch  him. 

No  I  I  'd  not  have  him  there, — nor  nearer  the  door, 
"Wliere  the  man  and  the  Angel  have  got  Sir  John  Moore,* 
And  are  quietly  letting  him  down  through  the  floor, 
By  Gillespie,  the  one  who  escaped,  at  Vellore, 

Alone  from  the  row  ; — 

Neither  he,  nor  Lord  Howe 
Would  like  to  be  plagued  with  a  little  Bow-wow. 

No,  Tray,  we  must  yield. 

And  go  further  a-field  ; 
To  lay  you  by  Nelson  were  downright  effrontVy ; 
— We'll  be  off  from  the  City,  and  look  at  the  country. 

It  shall  not  be  there. 

In  that  sepulchred  square, 
Where  folks  are  interr'd  for  the  sake  of  the  air, 
(Though,  pay  but  the  dues,  they  could  hardly  refuse 
To  Tray  what  they  grant  to  Thuggs,  and  Hindoos, 
Turks,  Infidels,  Heretics,  Jumpers,  and  Jews,) 

Where  the  tombstones  are  placed 

In  the  very  best  taste. 

At  the  feet  and  the  head 

Of  the  elegant  Dead, 
And  no  one's  received  who 's  not  "  buried  in  lead : 

•  See  note  at  end  of  "  The  Cynotaph.*' 


THE    CYNOTAPH.  113 

For,  there  lie  the  bones  of  Deputy  Jones, 
Wliom  the  widow's  tears,  and  the  orphan's  groans 
Affected  as  much  as  they  do  the  stones 
His  executors  laid  on  the  Deputy's  bones; 
Little  rest,  poor  knave  I 
Would  Tray  have  in  his  grave  ; 
•  Since  Spirits,  'tis  plain, 

Are  sent  back  again. 
To  roam  round  their  bodies, — the  bad  ones  in  puui,  - 
Dragging  after  them  sometimes  a  heavy  jack  chain  ; 
Wlienever  they  met,  alarm'd  by  its  groans,  hiS 
Ghost  all  night  long  would  be  barking  at  Jones  s. 

Nor  shall  he  be  laid 

By  that  cross  Old  Maid, 
Miss  Penelope  Bird, — of  whom  it  is  said 
All  the  dogs  in  the  parish  were  ever  afraid. 

He  must  not  be  placed 

By  one  so  strait-laced 
In  her  temper,  her  taste,  and  her  morals,  and  waist. 
For,  'tis  said,  when  she  went  up  to  heaven,  and  St  Peter, 

Who  happened  to  meet  her, 

Came  forward  to  greet  her 
She  pursed  up  with  scorn  every  vinegar  feature, 
And  bade  him  "Get  out  for  a  horrid  Male  Creature!  " 
So,  the  Saint,  after  looking  as  if  he  could  eat  her, 
Kot  knowing,  perhaps,  very  well  how  to  treat  her. 
And  not  being  willing, — or  able, — to  beat  her. 
Sent  her  back  to  her  giave  till  her  temper  grew  sweeter, 
With  an  epithet — which  I  decline  to  repeat  here. 

No, — if  Tray  were  interr'd 

By  Penelope  Bird, 
No  dog  would  be  e'er  so  be-"  whelp  "  *d  and  be-"cur  Vd— 
All  the  night  long  her  cantankerous  Sprite 
Would  be  running  about  in  the  pale  moon-light, 
Chasing  him  round,  and  attempting  to  lick 
The  ghost  of  poor  Tray  with  the  ghost  of  a  stick 


1  14  THE    CYNOTAni. 

Stay  !— let  me  see  I — 

Ay — here  it  shall  be 
At  the  root  of  this  gnarled  and  time-worn  tree, 

Where  Tray  and  I 

Would  often  lie, 
And  watch  the  bright  clouds  as  they  floated  by 
In  the  broad  expanse  of  the  clear  blue  sky, 
When  the  sun  was  bidding  the  world  good  b'ye ; 
And  the  plaintive  Nightingale,  warbliug  nigh, 
Pour'd  forth  her  mournful  melody  ; 
While  the  tender  Wood-pigeon's  cooing  cry 
Has  made  me  say  to  myself,  with  a  sigh, 
"  How  nice  you  would  eat  with  a  steak  in  a  pie  1  * 

Ay,  here  it  shall  be! — far,  far  from  the  view 
Of  the  noisy  world  and  its  maddening  crew. 

Simple  and  few, 

Tender  and  true 
The  lines  o'er  his  grave. — ^They  have,  some  of  them  too, 
The  advantage  of  being  remarkably  new. 

Fpitaph. 

Atfiiction  soro 

Long  time  he  bore, 
Physicians  were  in  vain  I — 

Grown  blind,  alasl  lie' J 

Some  Prussic  Acid, 
And  that  put  him  out  of  his  i)ain 


Note,  page  112. 

In  the  autumn  of  1824,  Captain  Med  win  having  Linted 
that  certain  beautiful  lines  on  the  burial  of  this  gallant 
oflBcer  might  have  been  the  production  of  Lord  Byron's 
Muse,  the  late  Mr.  Sydney  Taylor,  somewhat  indignant- 


THE    CYNOTAPH.  115 

ly,  claimed  them  for  their  rightful  owner,  the  late  Rev. 
Charles  Wolfe.  During  the  controversy  a  third  claim- 
ant started  up  in  the  person  of  a  soi-disant  "  Doctor 
Marshall,"  who  turned  out  to  be  a  Durham  blacksmith, 
and  his  pretensions  a  hoax.  It  was  then  that  a  certain 
"  Doctor  Peppercorn  "  put  forth  his  pretensions  to  what 
he  averred  was  the  only  "  true  and  original "  version, 
viz. : — 

Not  a  sotis  had  he  got, — not  a  guinea  or  note, 

And  he  looked  confoundedly  flurried. 
As  he  bolted  away  without  paying  his  shot. 

And  the  Landlady  after  him  hurried. 

We  saw  him  again  at  dead  of  niglit, 

When  home  from  the  Club  returninsf  • 

We  twigg'd  the  Doctor  beneath  the  litrht 
Of  the  gas-lamp  brilliantly  burning. 

All  bare,  and  exposed  to  the  midnight  dewa, 

Reclined  in  the  gutter  we  found  him : 
And  he  look'd  like  a  gentleman  taking  a  snooze. 

With  his  Marshall  cloak  around  him. 

*  Tlie  Doctor  's  as  drunk  as  the  d "  we  said. 

And  we  managed  a  shv.lter  to  borrow; 
We  raised  him,  and  sigh'd  at  the  thought  that  his  head 
Would  "  consumedly  ache  "  on  the  morrow. 

We  bore  him  home,  and  we  put  him  to  bed. 
And  we  told  his  wife  and  his  daughter 

To  give  him,  next  morning,  a  couple  of  red 
Herrings,  with  soda-water. — 

Loudly  they  talk'd  of  his  money  that 's  gone, 

And  his  Lady  began  to  upbraid  him ; 
But  little  he  reek'd,  so  they  let  him  snore  on 

'Neath  the  counterpane  just  as  we  laid  him. 


116  THE    CYNOTAPH. 

We  tuck'd  him  in,  and  had  hardly  don« 
When,  beneath  the  window  calling. 

We  heard  the  rough  voice  of  a  son  of  a  gun 
Of  a  watchman  "  One  o'clock  1"  bawling 

Slowly  and  sadly  we  all  walked  down 

From  his  room  in  the  uppermost  story; 

A  rushlight  we  placed  on  the  cold  hearth-stone, 
And  we  left  him  alone  in  his  glory  1 1 


EIos  ego  versjculos  feci,  tulit  alter  Lonores. 

Virgil. 

[  wrote  the  lines — *  *  owneu  them — he  told  stories ! 

Thomas  Ingoldsbt 


117 


MRS.  BOinERBY'S  STORY. 


THE    LEECH    OF    FOLKESTONE. 

Reader,  were  you  ever  bewitched  ? — I  do  not  mean 
by  a  "  white  wench's  black  eye,"  or  by  love-potions  im- 
bibed from  a  ruby  lip ; — but,  were  you  ever  really  and 
bond  fide  bewitched,  in  the  true  Matthew  Hopkins  sense 
of  the  word  ?  Did  you  ever,  for  instance,  find  yourself 
from  head  to  heel  one  vast  complication  of  cramps  ? — • 
or  burst  out  into  sudorific  exudation  like  a  cold  thaw, 
with  the  thermometer  at  zero  ? — Were  your  eyes  ever 
turned  upside  down,  exhibiting  nothing  but  theii 
whites  ? — Did  you  ever  vomit  a  paper  of  crooked  pins  ? 
or  expectorate  Whitechapel  needles  ? — These  are  genu- 
ine and  undoubted  marks  of  possession ;  and  if  you 
never  experienced  any  of  them, — why,  "  happy  man  be 
his  dole !" 

Yet  such  things  have  been  :  yea,  we  are  assured,  and 
that  on  no  mean  authority,  still  are. 

The  World,  according  to  the  best  geographers,  is 
divided  into  Europe,  Asia,  Africa,  America,  and  Romney 
Marsh.  In  this  last-named,  and  fifth,  quarter  of  the 
globe,  a  Witch  may  still  be  occasionally  discovered  in 
favourable,  i.  e.  stormy  seasons,  weathering  Dungeness 
Point  in  an  egg-shell,  or  careering  on  her  broomstick 


lie 

over  Dymclmrch  wall.  A  cow  may  yet  be  sometimes 
seen  galloping  like  mad,  with  tail  erect,  and  an  old  pair 
of  breeches  on  her  horns,  an  unerring  guide  to  the  door 
of  the  crone  whose  magic  arts  have  drained  her  udder. 
T  do  not,  however,  remember  to  have  heard  that  any 
Conjuror  has,  of  late,  been  detected  in  the  district. 

Not  many  miles  removed  from  the  verge  of  this 
recondite  region,  stands  a  collection  of  houses,  which 
its  maligners  call  a  fishing-town,  and  its  well-wishers  a 
Watering-place.  A  limb  of  one  of  the  Cinque  Ports,  it 
has,  (or  lately  had,)  a  corporation  of  its  own,  and  has 
been  thought  considerable  enough  to  give  a  second 
title  to  a  noble  family.  Rome  stood  on  seven  hills ; 
Folkestone  seems  to  have  been  built  upon  seventy. 
Its  streets,  lanes,  and  alleys, — fanciful  distinctions  with- 
out much  real  difference, — are  agreeable  enough  to  per- 
sons who  do  not  mind  running  up  and  down  stairs ; 
and  the  only  inconvenience  at  all  felt  by  such  of  its 
inhabitants  as  are  not  asthmatic,  is  when  some  heedless 
urchin  tumbles  down  a  chimney,  or  an  impertinent 
pedestrian  peeps  into  a  garret  window. 

At  the  eastern  extremity  of  the  town,  on  the  sea- 
beach,  and  scarcely  above  high  water  mark,  stood,  in 
the  good  old  times,  a  row  of  houses  then  denominated 
"  Frog-hole."  Modern  refinement  subsequently  eupho- 
nized the  name  into  "  East  street ;"  but  "  what's  in  a 
name  ?" — the  encroachments  of  Ocean  have  long  since 
levelled  all  in  one  common  ruin. 

Here,  in  the  early  part  of  the  seventeenth  century, 
flourished  in  somewhat  doubtful  reputation,  but  com- 
parative opulence,  a  compounder  of  medicines,  one 
Master  Erasmus  Buckthorne ;    the   efflwia   of   wlios* 


THE    LEECH    OF    FOLKESTONE.  110 

drugs  from  within,  mingling  agreeably  with  the  "  ancient 
and  fish-like  smells"  from  without,  wafted  a  delicious 
perfume  throughout  the  neighbourhood. 

At  seven  of  the  clock,  on  the  morning  when  Mrs. 
Botherby's  narrative  commences,  a  stout  Suflblk  "  punch," 
about  thirteen  hands  and  a  half  in  height,  was  slowly 
led  up  and  down  before  the  door  of  the  pharmacopolist 
by  a  lean  and  withered  lad,  whose  appearance  warranted 
an  opinion,  pretty  generally  expressed,  that  his  master 
found  him  as  useful  in  experimentalizing  as  in  house- 
hold drudgery  ;  and  that,  for  every  pound  avoirdupoise 
of  solid  meat,  he  swallowed,  at  the  least,  two  pounds 
troy  w^eight  of  chemicals  and  galenicals.  As  the  town 
clock  struck  the  quarter.  Master  Buckthorne  emerged 
from  his  laboratory,  and,  putting  the  key  carefully  into 
his  pocket,  mounted  the  surefooted  cob  aforesaid,  and 
proceeded  up  and  down  the  acclivities  and  declivities  of 
the  town  with  the  gravity  due  to  his  station  and  pro- 
fession. When  he  reached  the  open  country,  his  pace 
was  increased  to  a  sedate  canter,  which,  in  somewhat 
more  than  half  an  hour,  brought  "  the  horse  and  his 
rider  "  in  front  of  a  handsome  and  substantial  mansion, 
the  numerous  gable-ends  and  bayed  windows  of  which 
bespoke  the  owner  a  man  of  worship,  and  one  well  to 
do  in  the  world. 

"  How  now,  Hodge  Gardener  ?"  quoth  the  Leech, 
scarcely  drawing  bit ;  for  Punch  seemed  to  be  aware 
that  he  had  reached  his  destination,  and  paused  of  his 
own  accord  ;  "  How  now,  man  ?  How  fares  thine  em- 
ployer, worthy  Master  Marsh  ?  How  hath  he  done  ^ 
How  hath  he  slept  ? — Mv  potion  hath  done  its  office 
Ha!" 


120  MRS.    BOTHERBY'S    STORY. 

"  Alack !  ill  at  ease,  worthy  sir — ill  at  ease,"  retui-ned 
the  hind  ;  "  his  honour  is  up  and  stirring ;  but  he  hath 
rested  none,  and  complaineth  that  the  same  gnawing 
pain  devoureth,  as  it  were,  his  very  vitals ;  in  sooth  he 
is  ill  at  ease." 

"  Morrow,  doctor !"  interrupted  a  voice  from  a  case- 
ment opening  on  the  lawn.  "  Good  morrow !  I  have 
looked  for,  longed  for,  thy  coming  this  hour  and  more ; 
enter  at  once  ;  the  pasty  and  tankard  are  impatient  for 
thine  attack ! " 

"  Marry,  Heaven  forbid  that  I  should  baulk  their 
fancy!"  quoth  the  Leech  sotto  voce,  as,  abandoning  the 
bridle  to  honest  Hodge,  he  dismounted,  and  followed  a 
buxom-looking  handmaiden  into  the  breakfast  parlour. 

There,  at  the  head  of  his  well-furnished  board,  sat 
Master  Thomas  Marsh,  of  Marston-hall,  a  Yeoman  well 
respected  in  his  degree :  one  of  that  sturdy  and  sterling 
class  which,  taking  rank  immediately  below  the  Esquire, 
(a  title  in  its  origin  purely  military,)  occupied,  in  the 
wealthier  counties,  the  position  in  society  now  filled  by 
the  Country  Gentleman.  He  was  one  of  those  of  whom 
the  proverb  ran : 

«  A  Knight  of  Cales, 
A  Gentleman  of  Wales, 

And  a  Laird  of  the  North  Countree ; 
A  Yeoman  of  Kent, 
With  his  yearly  rent. 

Will  buy  them  out  all  three  !" 

A  cold  sirloin,  big  enough  to  frighten  a  Frenchman, 
filled  the  place  of  honour,  counter-checked  by  a  game- 
pie  of  no  stinted  dimensions ;  while  a  silver  flagon  of 
•humming-bub," — viz.  ale  strong   enough    to   blow  a 


THE    LEECH    OF    FOLKESTONE.  121 

man's  beaver  off, — smiled  opposite  in  treacherous 
amenity.  The  sideboard  groaned  beneath  sundry- 
massive  cups  and  waiters  of  the  purest  silver ;  while  the 
huge  skull  of  a  fallow  deer,  with  its  branching  horns, 
frowned  majestically  above.  All  spoke  of  affluence,  of 
comfort, — all  save  the  master,  Avhose  restless  eye  and 
feverish  look  hinted  but  too  plainly  the  severest  mental 
or  bodily  disorder.  By  the  side  of  the  proprietor  of  the 
mansion  sat  his  consort,  a  lady  now  past  the  bloom  of 
youth,  yet  still  retaining  many  of  its  charms.  The  clear 
ohve  of  her  complexion,  and  "  the  darkness  of  her  Anda- 
lusian  eye,"  at  once  betrayed  her  foreign  origin  ;  in  fact, 
her  "  lord  and  master,"  as  husbands  were  even  then,  by 
a  legal  fiction,  denominated,  had  taken  her  to  his  bosom 
in  a  foreign  country.  The  cadet  of  his  family.  Master 
Thomas  Marsh,  had  early  in  life  been  engaged  in  com- 
merce. In  the  pureuit  of  his  vocation  he  had  visited 
Antwerp,  Hamburg,  and  most  of  the  Hanse  Towns  ;  and 
had  already  formed  a  tender  connexion  with  the  orphan 
offspring  of  one  of  old  Alva's  officers,  when  the  unex- 
pected deaths  of  one  immediate,  and  two  presumptive, 
heirs  placed  him  next  in  succession  to  the  family  acres. 
He  married,  and  brought  home  his  bride  ;  who,  by  the 
decease  of  the  venerable  possessor,  heart-broken  at  the 
loss  of  his  elder  children,  became  eventually  lady  of 
Mars  ton-Hall.  It  has  been  said  that  she  was  beautiful, 
vet  was  her  beauty  of  n  character  that  operates  on  the 
fancy  more  than  the  affections;  she  was  one  to  be 
admired  rather  than  loved.  The  proud  curl  of  her  lip, 
the  firmness  of  her  tread,  her  arched  brow,  and  stately 
carriage,  showed  the  decision,  not  to  say  haughtiness,  of 
ner  soul;    while  her  glances,  whether  lightening  with 

FIRST    8EFIES.  6 


122 


MRS.    BOTHERBYS    STORT. 


angei,  or  melting  in  extreme  softness,  betrayed  tLe 
existence  of  passions  as  intense  in  kind  as  opposite  Id 
quality.  She  rose  as  Erasmus  entered  the  parlour,  and 
bestowing  on  him  a  look  fraught  with  meaning,  quitted 
the  room,  leaving  him  in  unrestrained  communication 
with  his  patient. 

"  'Fore  George,  Master  Buckthorne  !"  exclaimed  the 
latter,  as  the  Leech  drew  near,  "  I  will  no  more  of  your 
pharmacy  ; — burn,  burn — gnaw,  gnaw, — I  had  as  lief 
the  foul  fiend  were  in  my  gizzard  as  one  of  your  drugs. 
Tell  me  in  the  devil's  name,  what  is  the  matter  with  me !" 

Thus  conjured,  the  practitioner  paused,  and  even 
turned  somewhat  pale.  There  was  a  perceptible  falter- 
ing in  his  voice,  as,  evading  the  question,  he  asked, 
"  What  say  yc.ir  other  physicians?" 

"  Doctor  Phiz  says  it  is  wind, — Doctor  Fuz  says  it  is 
water, — and  Doctor  Buz  says  it  is  something  between 
wind  and  water." 

"  They  are  all  of  them  wrong,"  said  Erasmus  Buck- 
tJiorne. 

"Truly,  I  think  so,"  returned  the  patient.  "The} 
are  manifest  asses ;  but  you,  good  Leech,  you  are  a  hors*» 
of  another  colour.  The  world  talks  loudly  of  your 
learning,  your  skill,  and  cunning  in  arts  the  most 
abstruse ;  nay,  sooth  to  say,  some  look  coldly  on  you 
therefore,  and  stickle  not  to  aver  that  you  are  cater- 
cousin  with  Beelzebub  himself." 

"  It  is  ever  the  fate  of  science,"  murmured  the  profes- 
sor, "  to  be  maligned  by  the  ignorant  and  superstitious. 
But  a  truce  with  such  folly ; — let  me  examine  your 
palate." 

Master  Marsh  thrust  out  a  tongue  long,  clear,  and  ratJ 


THE    LEECH    OF    FOLKESTONE.  123 

as  beet-root.  "  There  is  nothing  wrong  there,''  said  the 
Leech.  "  Your  wrist : — no  ; — the  pulse  is  firm  and 
regular,  the  skin  cool  and  temperate.  Sii*,  there  is 
nothing  the  matter  with  you  !" 

"  Nothing  the  matter  with  me.  Sir  'Potecary  ? — Bui 
I  tell  you  there  is  the  matter  with  me, — much  the 
matter  with  me.  Why  is  it  that  something  seems  ever 
gnawing  at  my  heart-strings  ? — Whence  this  pain  in 
the  region  of  the  liver  ? — Why  is  it  that  I  sleep  not  o' 
nights, — rest  not  o'  days  ?     Why " 

"  You  are  fidgety,  Master  Marsh,"  said  the  doctor. 

Master  Marsh's  brow  grew  dark ;  he  half  rose  from 
his  seat,  supported  himself  by  both  hands  on  the  arms 
of  his  elbow-chair,  and  in  accents  of  mingled  anger  and 
astonishment  repeated  the  word  "  Fidgety  !" 

"  Ay,  fidgety,"  returned  the  doctor  calmly.  "  Tut, 
man,  there  is  naught  ails  thee  save  thine  own  over-ween- 
ing fancies.  Take  less  of  food,  more  air,  put  aside  thy 
flagon,  call  for  thy  horse ;  be  boot  and  saddle  the  word  1 
Why,— hast  thou  not  youth  ? — " 

"  I  have,"  said  the  patient. 

"  Wealth  and  a  fair  domain  ?'* 

"  Granted,"  quoth  Marsh  cheerily. 

«  And  a  fair  wife  ?" 

"  Yea,"  was  the  response,  but  in  a  tone  something  les? 
satisfied. 

"Then  arouse  thee,  man,  shake  ofi"  this  fantasy. 
betake  thyself  to  thy  lawful  occasions, — use  thy  good 
lap, — follow  thy  pleasures,  and  think  no  more  of  these 
fancied  ailments." 

"  But  1  tell  you,  master  mine,  these  ailments  are  not 
fancied.     I  lose  my  rest.  I  loathe  my  food,  my  doublet 


124  MRS.    BOTHERBYS    STORV. 

sits  loosely  on  me, — these  racking  pains.  My  wife,  too. 
when  I  meet  her  gaze,  the  cold  sweat  stands  on  my 

forehead,  and  I  could  almost  think "     Marsh  paused 

abruptly,  mused  awhile,  then  added,  looking  steadily  at 
his  visitor,  "  These  things  are  not  right ;  they  pass  the 
common,  Master  Erasmus  Buckthorne." 

A  slight  shade  crossed  the  brow  of  the  Leech,  but  its 
passage  was  momentary  ;  his  features  softened  to  a  smile 
in  which  pity  seemed  slightly  blended  with  contempt. 
"  Have  done  with  such  follies,  Master  Marsh.  You  are 
well,  an  you  would  but  think  so.  Ride,  I  say,  hunt, 
shoot,  do  anything,  —  disperse  these  melancholic 
humours,  and  become  yourself  again." 

"  Well,  I  will  do  your  bidding,"  said  Marsh,  thought- 
fully. "  It  may  be  so  ;  and  yet, — but  I  will  do  your 
bidding.  Master  Cobbe  of  Brenzet  writes  me  that  he 
hath  a  score  or  two  of  fat  ewes  to  be  sold  a  penny- 
worth ;  I  had  thought  to  have  sent  Ralph  Looker,  but 
I  will  essay  to  go  myself.  Ho,  there  ! — saddle  me  the 
brown  mare,  and  bid  Ralph  be  ready  to  attend  me  on 
the  gelding." 

An  ex])i'ession  of  pain  contracted  the  features  of 
Master  Marsh  as  he  rose  and  slowly  quitted  the 
apartment  to  prepare  for  his  journey  ;  while  the 
Leech,  having  bidden  him  farewell,  vanished  through 
an  opposite  door,  and  betook  himself  to  the  private 
boudour  of  the  fair  mistress  of  Mars  ton,  muttering 
as  he  went  a  quotation  from  a  then  newly-published 

play, 

"Not  poppy,  nor  maiidragora, 
Nor  all  the  drowsy  syrups  of  the  world, 
Shall  ever  medicine  thee  to  that  sweet  sleep, 
Wnich  thou  own'dst  yesterday." 
*  *  *  *  * 


THE    LEECH    OF    FOLKESTONE.  125 

Of  what  passed  at  this  intervew  between  the 
Folkestone  doctor  and  the  fair  Spaniard,  Mrs.  Bother'->y 
declares  she  could  never  obtain  any  satisfactory  elucida^ 
tion.  Not  that  tradition  is  silent  on  the  subject, — quite 
the  contrary  ;  it  is  the  abundance,  not  paucity,  of  the 
materials  she  supplies,  and  the  consequent  embarrass- 
ment of  selection,  that  makes  the  difficulty.  Some 
have  averred  that  the  Leech,  whose  character,  as  ha? 
been  before  hinted,  was  more  than  threadbare,  employed 
his  time  in  teaching  her  the  mode  of  administering 
certain  noxious  compounds,  the  unconscious  partaker 
whereof  would  pine  and  die  so  slowly  and  gradually  as 
to  defy  suspicion.  Others  there  were  who  affirmed  that 
x>ucifer  himself  was  then  and  there  raised  in  propria 
pet'mnd,  with  all  his  personal  attributes  of  horn  and 
hoof.  In  support  of  this  assertion,  they  adduce  the  testi- 
mony of  the  aforesaid  buxom  housemaid,  who  protested 
that  the  Hall  smelt  that  evening  like  a  manufactory  of 
matches.  All,  however,  seemed  to  agree  that  the  con- 
fabulation, whether  human  or  infernal,  was  conducted 
with  profound  secresy,  and  protracted  to  a  considerable 
length  ;  that  its  object,  as  far  as  could  be  divined,  meant 
anything  but  good  to  the  head  of  the  family  ;  that  the 
lady,  moreover,  was  heartily  tired  of  her  husband  ;  and 
that,  in  the  event  of  his  removal  by  disease  or  casualty. 
Master  Erasmus  Buckthorne,  albeit  a  great  philosophist, 
would  have  no  violent  objection  to  "  throw  physic  to 
the  dogs,"  and  exchange  his  laboratory  for  the  estate 
of  Marston,  its  live  stock  included.  Some,  too,  have 
inferred  that  to  him  did  Madam  Isabel  seriously  incline  ; 
while  others  have  thought,  indue -^-d  perhaps  by  subse- 
quent events,  that  she  was  merel/  using  him  for  he? 


126  MRS.  botherby's  story. 

purposes  ;  that  one  Jose,  a  tall,  bright-eyed,  hook* 
nosed  striphng  from  her  native  land,  was  a  personage 
not  unlikely  to  put  a  spoke  in  the  doctor's  wheel ;  and  that 
should  such  a  chance  arise,  the  Sage,  wise  as  he  was, 
would  after  all  run  no  slight  risk  of  being  "  bamboozled." 

Master  Jose  was  a  youth  well-favoured,  and  comely 
to  look  upon.  His  office  was  that  of  page  to  the  dame ; 
an  office  which,  after  long  remaining  in  abeyance,  has 
been  of  late  years  revived,  as  may  well  be  seen  in  the 
persons  of  sundry  smart  hobbledehoys,  now  constantly  to 
5e  met  with  on  staircases  and  in  boudoirs,  clad,  for  the 
most  part,  in  garments  fitted  tightly  to  the  shape,  the 
(ower  moiety  adorned  with  a  broad  stripe  of  crimson  or 
silver  lace,  and  the  upper  with  what  the  first  Wit  of 
our  times  has  described  as  "  a  favourable  eruption  of 
buttons."  The  precise  duties  of  this  employment  have 
never,  as  far  as  we  have  heard,  been  accurately  defined. 
The  perfuming  a  handkerchief,  the  combing  a  lap-dog, 
and  the  occasional  presentation  of  a  sippet-shaped  billet- 
doux,  are,  and  always  have  been,  among  them  ;  but 
these  a  young  gentleman  standing  five  foot  ten,  and 
aged  nineteen  "  last  grass,"  might  well  be  supposed  to 
have  outgrown.  Jose,  however,  kept  his  place,  perhaps 
because  he  was  not  fit  for  any  other.  To  the  confer- 
ences between  his  mistrees  and  physician  he  had  not 
been  admitted  ;  his  post  was  to  keep  watch  and  ward 
in  the  ante-room  ;  and,  when  the  interview  was  con- 
cluded, he  attended  the  lady  and  her  visitor  as  far  as 
the  court-yard,  where  he  held,  with  all  due  respect,  the 
stirrup  for  the  latter,  as  he  once  more  resumed  his 
position  on  the  lack  of  Punch. 

Who  was   it  that  savs  "little  pitchers  have  large 


THE    LEECH    OF    FOLKESTONE.  127 

eai-s  ?"  Some  deep  metaphysician  of  the  potteries,  who 
miglit  have  added  that  they  have  also  quick  eyes,  and 
sometimes  silent  tongues.  There  was  a  little  meta- 
phorical piece  of  crockery  of  this  class,  who,  screened 
by  a  huge  elbow-chair,  had  sat  a  quiet  and  unobserved 
spectator  of  the  whole  proceedings  between  her  mamma 
and  Master  Erasmus  Buckthorne.  This  was  Miss 
Marian  Marsh,  a  rosy-cheeked  laughter-loving  imp  of 
some  six  years  old  ;  but  one  who  could  be  mute  as  a 
mouse  when  the  fit  was  on  her.  A  handsome  and 
highly  polished  cabinet  of  the  darkest  ebony  occupied 
a  recess  at  one  end  of  the  apartment ;  this  had  long  been 
a  great  subject  of  speculation  to  little  Miss.  Uer 
curiosity,  however,  had  always  been  repelled  ;  nor  had 
all  her  coaxing  ever  won  her  an  inspection  of  the  thou- 
sand and  one  pretty  things  which  its  recesses  no  doubt 
contained.  On  this  occasion  it  was  unlocked,  and  ! 
Marian  was  about  to  rush  forward  in  eager  anticipation 
of  a  peep  at  its  interior,  when,  child  as  she  was,  the 
reflection  struck  her  that  she  would  stand  a  better 
chance  of  carrying  her  point  by  remaining  perdue. 
Fortune  for  once  favoured  her  :  she  crouched  closer 
than  before,  and  saw  her  mother  take  something  from 
one  of  the  drawers,  which  she  handed  over  to  the 
Leech.  Strange  mutterings  followed,  and  words  whose 
sounds  were  foreign  to  her  youthful  ears.  Had  she 
been  older,  their  import,  perhaps,  might  have  been 
equally  unknown.  After  a  while  there  was  a  pause ; 
and  then  the  lady,  as  in  answer  to  a  requisition  from 
the  gentleman,  placed  in  his  hand  a  something  which 
she  took  from  her  toilet.  The  transaction,  whatever  its 
nature,  seemed  now  to  be  complete,  and  the  article  wa* 


12S  MRS.  botherby's  story. 

carefully  replaced  in  the  drawer  from  wliich  it  bad  been 
taken.  A  long,  and  apparently  interesting,  conversa* 
tion  then  took  place  between  the  parties,  carried  on  in 
a  low  tone.  At  its  termination,  Mistress  Marsh  and 
Master  Erasmus  Buckthorne  quitted  the  boudoir  toge- 
ther. But  the  cabinet ! — ay,  that  was  left  unfastened  * 
the  folding-doors  still  remained  invitingly  expanded,  the 
bunch  of  keys  dangling  from  the  lock.  In  an  instant 
the  spoiled  child  was  in  a  chair;  the  drawer  so  recently 
closed,  yielded  at  once  to  her*  hand,  and  her  hurried 
researches  were  rewarded  by  the  prettiest  little  waxen 
doll  imaginable.  It  was  a  first-rate  prize,  and  Miss 
lost  no  time  in  appropriating  it  to  herself  Long 
before  Madame  Marsh  had  returned  to  her  Sanctum^ 
Marian  was  seated  under  a  laurustinus  in  the 
garden,  nursing  her  new  baby  with  the  most  affec- 
tionate solicitude. 

***** 

"  Susan,  look  here  ;  see  what  a  nasty  scratch  I  have 
got  upon  my  hand,"  said  the  young  lady,  when  routed 
out  at  length  from  her  hiding  place  to  her  noontide 
meal. 

"  Yes,  Miss,  this  is  always  the  way  with  you !  mend, 
mend,  mend, — nothing  but  mend  !  Scrambling  about 
among  the  bushes,  and  tearing  your  clothes  to  rags. 
"What  with  you,  fNnd  with  madam's  farthingales  and 
kirtles,  a  poor  bow^r-maiden  has  a  fine  time  of  it!" 

"  But  I  have  not  torn  my  clothes,  Susan,  and  it  was 
not  the  bushes  ;  it  was  the  doll :  only  see  what  a  great 
ugly  pin  I  have  pulled  out  of  it !  and  look,  here  is 
Rnother ! "  As  she  spoke,  Marian  drew  forth  one  of 
♦iiose  extended  pieces  of  black  pointed  wire,  with  which, 


THE    LEECH    OF    FOLKESTONE.  12i> 

in  the  days  of  toupees  and  pompoons,  our  foremothers 
were  wont  to  secure  their  fly-caps  and  head-gear  frono 
he  impertinent  assaults  of  "  Zephyrus  and  the  Little 
Breezes." 

"  And  pray,  Miss,  where  did  you  get  this  pretty  doll, 
as  you  call  it  ?"  asked  Susan,  turning  over  the  puppet, 
and  viewing  it  with  a  scrutinizing  eye. 

''  Mamma  gave  it  me,"  said  the  child. — This  was  a 

fib: 

"Indeed!"  quoth  the  girl  thoughtfully;  and  then, 
in  half  soliloquy,  and  a  lower  key,  "  Well !  I  wish  I 
may  die  if  it  doesn't  look  like  master ! — But  come  to 
your  dinner.  Miss  !     Hark  !  the  hell  is  striking  One  P^ 

Meanwhile  Master  Thomas  Marsh,  and  his  man 
Ralph,  were  threading  the  devious  paths,  then,  as  now, 
most  pseudonymously  dignified  with  the  name  of  roads, 
that  wound  between  Marston-Hall  and  the  frontier  of 
Romney  Marsh.  Their  progress  was  comparatively 
slow  ;  for  though  the  brown  mare  was  as  good  a  road- 
ster as  man  might  back,  and  the  gelding  no  mean  nag 
of  his  hands,  yet  the  tracts,  rarely  traversed  save  by 
the  rude  wains  of  the  day,  miry  in  the  "  bottoms,"  an^ 
covered  with  loose  and  rolHng  stones  on  the  highe. 
grounds,  rendered  barely  passable  the  perpetual  alter- 
nation of  hill  and  valley. 

The  master  rode  on  in  pain,  and  the  man  in  listless- 
ness  ;  although  the  intercourse  between  two  individuals 
so  situated  was  much  less  restrained  in  those  days  than 
might  suit  the  refinement  of  a  later  age,  little  passed 
approximating  to  conversation  beyond  an  occasional 
and  half-stifled  groan  from  the  one,  or  a  vacant  whistle 
from  the  other.  An  hour's  riding  had  brought  them 
6* 


130  MRS.    BOTHERRy's    STORY. 

among  the  woods  of  Acryse  ;  and  they  were  about  tc 
descend  one  of  those  green  and  leafy  lanes,  rendered  by 
matted  and  overarching  branches  alike  impervious  to 
shower  or  sunbeam,  when  a  sudden  and  violent  spasm 
seized  on  Master  Marsh,  and  nearly  caused  him  to  fall 
from  his  horse.  With  some  difficulty  he  succeeded  in 
dismounting,  and  seating  himself  by  the  road  side. 
Here  he  remained  for  a  full  half  hour  in  great  apparent 
agony ;  the  cold  sweat  rolled  in  large  round  drops 
adown  his  clammy  forehead,  a  universal  shivering 
palsied  every  limb,  his  eye-balls  appeared  to  be  starting 
from  their  sockets,  and  to  his  attached,  though  dull 
and  heavy  serving-man,  he  seemed  as  one  struggling  in 
the  pangs  of  impending  dissolution.  His  groans  rose 
thick  and  frequent ;  and  the  alarmed  Ralph  was  hesi- 
tating between  his  disinclination  to  leave  him,  and  his 
desire  to  procure  such  assistance  as  one  of  the  few  cot- 
tages, rarely  sprinkled  in  that  wild  country,  might  afford, 
when,  after  a  long-drawn  sigli,  his  master's  features  as 
suddenly  relaxed  ;  he  declared  himself  better,  the  pang 
had  passed  away,  and,  to  use  his  own  expression,  he, 
"  felt  as  if  a  knife  had  been  drawn  from  out  his  very 
heart."  With  Ralph's  assistance,  after  a  while,  he  again 
reached  his  saddle ;  and,  though  still  ill  at  ease  from  a 
deep-seated  and  gnawing  pain,  which  ceased  not,  as  he 
averred,  to  torment  him,  the  violence  of  the  paroxysm 
was  spent,  and  it  returned  no  more. 

Master  and  man  pursued  their  way  with  increased 
ipeed,  as,  emerging  from  the  wooded  defiles,  they  at 
length  neared  the  coast;  then,  leaving  the  romantic 
castle  of  Saltwood,  with  its  neighbouring  town  of 
Hitlie,  a  little  on  their  left,  they  proceeded  along  the 


THE    LEECH    OF    FOLKESTONE.  131 

ancient  paved  causeway,  and,  crossing  the  old  Roman 
road,  or  Watling,  plunged  again  into  the  woods  that 
stretched  between  Lympne  and  Ostenh  anger. 

The  sun  rode  high  in  the  heavens,  and  its  meridian 
Maze  was  powerfully  felt  by  man  and  horse,  when, 
again  quitting  their  leafy  covert,  the  travellers  debouched 
on  the  open  plain  of  Aldington  Frith,  a  wide  tract  of 
unenclosed  country  stretchmg  down  to  the  very  bordoi'S 
of  "the  Marsh  "itself. 

Here  it  w^as,  in  the  neighbouring  chapelry,  the  site 
of  which  may  yet  be  traced  by  the  curious  antiquary, 
that  Elizabeth  Barton,  the  "  Holy  Maid  of  Kent,"  had, 
something  less  than  a  hundred  years  previous  to  the 
period  of  our  narrative,  commenced  that  series  of  super- 
natural pranks  which  eventually  procured  for  her  head 
an  unenvied  elevation  upon  London  Bridge ;  and  thougii 
the  parish  had  since  enjoyed  the  benefit  of  the  incum- 
bency of  Master  Erasmus's  illustrious  and  enlightened 
Namesake,  still,  truth  to  tell,  some  of  the  old  leaven 
was  even  yet  supposed  to  be  at  work.  The  place  had, 
in  fact,  an  ill  name ;  and,  though  Popish  miracles  had 
ceased  to  electrify  its  denizens,  spells  and  charms, 
operating  by  a  no  less  wondrous  agency,  were  said  to 
have  taken  their  place.  Warlocks,  and  other  unholy 
subjects  of  Satan,  were  reported  to  make  its  wild 
recesses  their  favourite  rendezvous,  and  that  to  an  extent 
which  eventually  attracted  the  notice  of  no  less  a  per- 
sonage than  the  sagacious  Matthew  Hopkins  himself, 
Witchfinder-General  to  the  British  government. 

A  great  portion  of  the  Frith,  or  Fright,  as  the  name 
was  then,  and  is  still  pronounced,  had  formerly  been  a 
Chase,  with  rights  of  Free-warren,  &c.,  appertaining  to 


132 

the  Archbishops  of  the  Province.  Since  the  Reforma- 
tion, however,  it  had  been  disparked;  and  when  Master 
Thomas  Marsh,  and  his  man  Ralph,  entered  upon  its 
confines,  the  open  greensward  exhibited  a  Hvely  scene, 
sufficiently  explanatory  of  certain  sounds  that  had  already 
reached  their  ears  while  yet  within  the  sylvan  screen 
which  concealed  their  origin. 

It  was  Fair-day :  booths,  stalls,  and  all  the  rude  para- 
2)hernalia  of  an  assembly  that  then  met  as  much  for 
the  purposes  of  traffic  as  festivity,  were  scattered  i irre- 
gularly over  the  turf;  pedlars,  with  their  packs,  horse- 
croupers,  pig-merchants,  itinerant  venders  of  crockery 
and  cutlery,  wandered  promiscuously  among  the  min- 
gled groups,  exposing  their  several  wares  and  commo- 
dities, and  soliciting  custom.  On  one  side  was  the 
gaudy  riband,  making  its  mute  appeal  to  rustic  gal- 
lantry; on  the  other  the  delicious  brandy-ball  and 
alluring  loUipop,  compounded  after  the  most  approved 
receipt  in  the  "  True  Gentlew^oman's  Garland,"  and 
"  raising  the  waters  "  in  the  mouth  ^f  many  an  expec- 
tant urchin. 

Nor  were  rural  sports  wanting  to  those  whom  plea 
sure,  rather  than  business,  had  drawn  from  their  humble 
homes.  Here  was  the  tall  and  slippery  pole,  glittering 
in  its  grease,  and  crowned  with  the  ample  cheese,  that 
mocked  the  hopes  of  the  discomfited  climber.  There  the 
fugitive  pippin,  swimming  in  water  not  of  the  purest,  and 
bobbing  from  the  expanded  lips  of  the  juvenile  Tan* 
talus.  In  this  quarter  the  ear  was  pierced  by  squeaks 
from  some  beleaguered  porker,  whisking  his  well-soaped 
tail  from  the  grasp  of  one  already  in  fancy  his  captor 
In  that,  the  eye  rested,  with  undisguised  delight,  upop 


THE    LEECH    OF    FOLKESTONE. 


las 


the  grimaces  of  grinning  candidates  for  the  honours  of 
the  horse-collar.  All  was  fun,  frolic,  courtship,  junket- 
ing, and  jollity. 

Maid  Marian,  indeed,  with  her  lieges,  Robin  Hood, 
Scarlet,  and  little  John,  was  wanting ;  Friar  Tuck  was 
absent ;  even  the  Hobby-horse  had  disappeared ;  but 
the  agile  Morrice-dancers  yet  were  there,  and  jingled 
their  bells  merrily  among  stalls  well  stored  with  ginger- 
bread, tops,  whips,  whistles,  and  all  those  noisy  instru- 
ments of  domestic  torture  in  which  scenes  like  these  are 
even  now  so  fertile.  Had  I  a  foe  whom  I  held  at  dead- 
liest feud,  I  would  entice  his  favourite  child  to  a  Fair, 
and  buy  him  a  Whistle  and  a  Penny-trumpet. 

In  one  corner  of  the  green,  a  httle  apart  from  the 
thickest  of  the  throng,  stood  a  small  square  stage,  nearly 
level  with  the  chins  of  the  spectators,  whose  repeated 
bursts  of  laughter  seemed  to  intimate  the  presence  of 
something  more  than  usually  amusing.  The  platform 
was  divided  into  two  unequal  portions ;  the  smaller  of 
which,  surrounded  by  curtains  of  a  coarse  canvass, 
veiled  from  the  eyes  of  the  profane  the  penetralia  of 
this  moveable  temple  of  Esculapius,  for  such  it  was. 
Within  its  interior,  and  secure  from  vulgar  curiosity, 
the  Quack-salver  had  hitherto  kept  himself  ensconced ; 
occupied,  no  doubt,  in  the  preparation  and  arrangement 
of  that  wonderful  panacea  which  was  hereafter  to  shed 
the  blessings  of  health  among  the  admiring  crowd. 
Meanwhile  his  attendant  Jack-pudding  was  busily  era- 
ployed  on  the  proscenium^  doing  his  best  to  attract 
attention  by  a  practical  facetiousness  which  took  won- 
derfully with  the  spectators,  interspersing  it  with  the 
melodious  notes  of  a  huge  cow's  horn.     The  fellow'i 


134 


MRS.    BOTHERBY'S    STORY. 


costume  varied  but  little  in  character  from  that  in  wlik^fi 
the  late  (alas !  that  we  should  have  to  write  the  word 
— late  !)  Mr.  Joseph  Grimaldi  was  accustomed  to  pre- 
sent himself  before  "  a  generous  and  enlightened  public ;" 
the  principal  difference  consisted  in  this,  that  the  upper 
•garment  was  a  long  white  tunic  of  a  coarse  linen,  sur- 
mounted by  a  caricature  of  the  ruff  then  fast  falling 
into  disuse,  and  was  secured  from  the  throat  downwards 
by  a  single  row  of  broad  white  metal  buttons ;  and  his  legs 
were  cased  in  loose  wide  trousers  of  the  same  material ; 
while  his  sleeves,  prolongued  to  a  most  disproportionate 
extent,  descended  far  below  the  fingers,  and  acted  as 
flappers  in  the  somersets  and  caracoles,  with  which  he 
diversified  and  enlivened  his  antics.  Consummate  im- 
pudence, not  altogether  unmixed  with  a  certain  &\y 
humour,  sparkled  in  his  eye  through  the  chalk  and 
ochre  with  which  his  features  were  plentifully  bedaubed: 
and  especially  displayed  itself  in  a  succession  of  jokes, 
the  coarseness  of  which  did  not  seem  to  detract  from 
their  merit  in  the  eyes  of  his  applauding  audience. 

He  was  in  the  midst  of  a  long  and  animated  harangue 
explanatory  of  his  masters  high  pretensions ;  he  had 
informed  his  gaping  auditors  that  the  latter  was  the 
seventh  son  of  a  seventh  son,  and  of  course,  as  they 
very  well  knew,  an  Unborn  Doctor ;  that  to  this  happy 
accident  of  birth   he   added    the    advantao-e   of   most 

o 

extensive  travel ;  that  in  search  after  science  he  had 
not  only  perambulated  the  whole  of  this  world,  but  had 
trespassed  on  the  boundaries  of  the  next:  that  the 
depths  of  the  Ocean  and  the  bowels  of  the  Earth  were 
alike  familiar  to  him ;  that  besides  salves  and  cataplasms 
of  sovereign  virtue,  by  combining  sundry  mosses,  ga- 


THE    LEECH    OF    FOLKESTONE.  ISo 

thered  many  thousand  fathoms  below  the  surface  of  the 
sea,  with  certain  unknown  drugs  found  in  an  undis- 
covered ishmd,  and  boihng  the  whole  in  the  lava  of 
Vesuvius,  he  had  succeeded  in  producing  his  celebrated 
balsam  of  Crackapanoko,  the  never-failing  remedy  for 
all  human  disorders,  and  which,  with  a  proper  trial 
allowed,  would  go  near  to  reanimate  the  dead.  "  Draw 
near ! "  continued  the  worthy,  "  draw  near,  my  masters ! 
and  you,  my  good  mistresses,  draw  near,  every  one  of 
you.  Fear  not  high  and  haughty  carriage;  though 
greater  than  King  or  Kaiser,  yet  is  the  mighty  Aldro- 
vando  milder  than  mother's  milk ;  flint  to  the  proud,  to 
the  humble  he  is  as  melting  as  wax ;  he  asks  not  your 
disorders,  he  sees  them  himself  at  a  glance — nay,  with- 
out a  glance ;  he  tells  your  ailments  with  his  eyes  shut ! 
— Draw  near  !  di'aw  near  !  the  more  incurable  the 
better  !  List  to  the  illustrious  Doctor  AldrovandOj  firet 
Physician  to  Prester  John,  Leech  to  the  Grand  Llama, 
and  Hakim  in  Ordinary  to  Mustapha  ^luley  Bey ! " 

"  Hath  your  master  ever  a  charm  for  the  toothache, 
an't  please  you  ?"  asked  an  elderly  countryman,  whose 
swollen  cheek  bespoke  his  interest  in  the  question. 

"  A  charm  ! — a  thousand,  and  every  one  of  them 
infallible.  Toothache,  quotha  !  I  had  hoped  you  had 
come  with  every  bone  in  your  body  fractured  or  out  of 
joint.  A  toothache  ! — propound  a  tester,  master  o'  mine 
— we  ask  not  more  for  such  trifles  :  do  my  bidding,  and 
thy  jaws,  even  with  the  word,  shall  cease  to  trouble  thee." 

The  clown,  fumbling  a  while  in  a  deep  leathern 
purse,  at  length  produced  a  sixpence,  which  he  tendered 
to  the  jester.  "  Now  to  thy  master,  and  bring  me  the 
cLann  forthwith." 


136  MRS.    BOTHERBY'S    STORTf 

"  Nay,  honest  man  ;  to  disturb  the  wiglity  Aldro 
vando  on  such  slight  occasion  were  pity  of  mj  life 
areed  my  counsel  aright,  and  I  will  warrant  thee  fv)r  the 
nonce.  Hie  thee  home,  friend ;  infuse  this  powaer  in 
cold  spring-water,  fill  thy  mouth  with  the  mixture,  and 
sit  upon  thy  fire  till  it  boils  I" 

"  Out  on  thee  for  a  pestilent  knave !"  cried  the 
cozened  countryman  ;  but  the  roar  of  merriment  around 
bespoke  the  by-standers  well  pleased  with  the  jape  put 
upon  him.  He  retired,  venting  his  spleen  in  audible 
murmurs  ;  and  the  mountebank,  finding  the  feelings  of 
the  mob  enlisted  on  his  side,  waxed  more  impudent 
every  instant,  filling  up  the  intervals  between  his  fool- 
eries with  sundry  capers  and  contortions,  and  discordant 
notes  from  the  cow's  horn. 

"  Draw  near,  draw  near,  my  masters  !  Here  have 
ye  a  remedy  for  every  evil  under  the  sun,  moral,  phy- 
sical, natural,  and  supernatural !  Hath  any  man  a 
termagant  wife  ? — here  is  that  will  tame  her  presently  ! 
Hath  any  one  a  smoky  chimney  ? — here  is  an  incon- 
tinent cure !" 

To  the  first  infliction  no  man  ventured  to  plead 
guilty,  though  there  were  those  standing  by  who 
thought  their  neighbours  might  have  profited  withal. 
For  the  last  named  recipe  started  forth  at  least  a  dozen 
candidates.  With  the  greatest  gravity  imaginable, 
Pierrot,  having  pocketed  their  groats,  delivered  to  each 
a  small  packet,  curiously  folded  and  closely  sealed,  con 
raining,  as  he  averred,  directions  which,  if  truly  observed, 
would  preclude  any  chimney  from  smoking  for  a  whole 
year.  They  whose  curiosity  led  them  to  dive  into  the 
mystery,  found  that  a  sprig  of  mountain  ash,  culled  hy 


THE    LEECH    OF    FOLKESTONE.  137 

moonliglit,  was  the  cliariu  recommended,  coupled,  how- 
ever, with  the  proviso  that  no  fire  should  be  lighted  on 
the  hearth  during  its  exercise. 

The  frequent  bursts  of  merriment  proceeding  from 
this  quarter,  at  length  attracted  the  attention  of  Master 
Marsh,  whose  line  of  road  necessarily  brought  him  near 
this  end  of  the  fair ;  he  drew  bit  in  front  of  the  stage 
just  as  its  noisy  occupant,  having  laid  aside  his  formida- 
ble horn,  was  drawing  still  more  largely  on  tlie  amaze- 
ment of  "the  public"  by  a  feat  of  especial  -wonder, — he 
was  eating  fire  !  Curiosity  mingled  with  astonishment 
was  at  its  height ;  and  feehngs  not  unallied  to  alarm 
were  beginning  to  manifest  themselves,  among  the  softer 
sex  especially,  as  they  gazed  on  the  flames  that  issued 
from  the  mouth  of  the  \iving  volcano.  All  eyes,  indeed, 
were  fixed  upon  the  fire-eater,  with  an  intentness  that 
left  no  room  for  observing  another  worthy  who  had  now 
emerged  upon  the  scene.  This  was,  however,  no  less  a 
personage  than  the  Deus  ex  machind, — the  illustrious 
Aldrovando  himself 

Short  in  stature  and  spare  in  form,  the  sage  had 
somewhat  increased  the  former  by  a  steeple-crowned 
hat,  adorned  with  a  cock's  feather;  while  the  thick 
shoulder-padding  of  a  quilted  doublet,  surmounted  by  a 
falling  band,  added  a  little  to  his  personal  importance 
in  point  of  breadth.  His  habit  was  composed  through 
out  of  black  serge,  relieved  with  scarlet  slashes  in  the 
sleeves  and  trunks ;  red  was  the  feather  in  his  hat,  red 
were  the  roses  in  his  shoes,  which  rejoiced  moreover  in 
a  pair  of  red  heels.  The  lining  of  a  short  cloak  of  fadec 
velvet,  that  hung  transversely  over  his  left  shoulder,  w? 
also  red.   Indeed,  from  all  that  we  could  ever  see  or  hea 


i:}8  MRS.    BOTHERBYS    STORY. 

this  agreeable  alternation  of  red  and  black  appears  lo- 
be 1.he  mixture  of  colours  most  approved  at  the  court  ol 
Beelzebub,  and  the  one  most  generally  adopted  by  his 
friends  and  favourites.  His  features  were  sharp  and 
shrewd,  and  a  fire  sparkled  in  his  keen  grey  eye,  much 
at  variance  with  the  wrinkles  that  ran  their  irregular 
furrows  above  his  prominent  and  bushy  brows.  Ha 
had  advanced  slowly  from  behind  his  screen  while  the 
attention  of  the  multitude  was  absorbed  by  the  pyro- 
technics of  Mr.  Merryman,  and,  stationing  himself  at 
the  extreme  corner  of  the  stage,  stood  quietly  leaning 
on  a  crutch-handle  walking-staff  of  blackest  ebony,  his 
glance  steadily  fixed  on  the  face  of  Marsh,  from  whose 
countenance  the  amusement  he  had  insensibly  begun 
to  derive  had  not  succeeded  in  removing  all  traces  of 
bodily  pain. 

For  a  while  the  latter  was  unobservant  of  the  inqui- 
sitorial survey  with  which  he  was  regarded ;  the  eyes 
of  the  parties,  however,  at  length  met.  The  brown 
mare  had  a  fine  shoulder ;  she  stood  pretty  nearly  six- 
teen hands.  Marsh  himself,  though  slightly  bowed  by 
ill  health  and  the  "  coming  autumn "  of  life,  was  full 
six  feet  in  height.  His  elevation  giving  him  an  unob- 
structed view  over  the  heads  of  the  pedestrians,  he  hai 
naturally  fallen  into  the  rear  of  the  assembly,  which 
brouojht  him  close  to  the  diminutive  Doctor,  with  whose 
face,  despite  the  red  heels,  his  own  was  about  upon  a  level. 

"  And  what  makes  Master  Marsh  here  ? — what  sees 
he  in  the  mummeries  of  a  miserable  buffoon  to  divert 
him  when  his  life  is  in  jeopardy  ?"  said  a  shrill  cracked 
yoice  that  sounded  as  in  his  very  ear.  It  was  the 
Doctor  who  spoke. 


THE    LEECH    OF    FOLKESTONE.  139 

"Knowest  tliou  me,  friend?"  said  Marsli,  scanning 
with  awakened  interest  the  figure  of  his  questioner :  "  I 
call  thee  not  to  mind  ;  and  yet — stay,  where  have  we 
met  ?" 

"  It  skills  not  to  declare,"  was  the  answer  ;  "  suffice 
it  we  have  met, — in  other  climes  perchance, — and  now 
meet  happily  again — happily  at  least  for  thee." 

"  Why  truly  the  trick  of  thy  countenance  reminds 
me  of  somewhat  I  have  seen  before ;  where  or  when  I 
know  not:  but  what  wouldst  thou  with  me?" 

"  Nay,  rather  what  wouldst  thou  here,  Thomas 
Marsh  ?  What  wouldst  thou  on  the  Frith  of  Alding- 
ton ? — is  it  a  score  or  two  of  paltry  sheep  ?  or  is  it 
som.ething  nearer  to  thy  heart  ?" 

Marsh  started  as  the  last  words  were  pronounced 
with  more  than  common  significance :  a  pang  shot 
through  him  at  the  moment,  and  the  vinegar  aspect 
of  the  charlatan  seemed  to  relax  into  a  smile  half 
compassionate,  half  sardonic. 

"  Gramraercy,"  quoth  Marsh,  after  a  long-draw u 
breath,  "  what  knowest  thou  of  me,  fellow,  or  of  my 
concerns  ?     What  knowest  thou ^" 

"  This  know  I,  Master  Thomas  Marsli,"  said  the 
stranger  gravely,  "  that  thy  life  is  even  now  perilled, 
evil  practices  are  against  thee  ;  but  no  matter,  thou 
art  quit  for  the  nonce — other  hands  than  mine  ^  -e 
saved  thee!  Thy  pains  are  over.  Hark!  the  clock 
strikes  One  /"  As  he  spoke,  a  single  toll  from  the 
bell-tower  of  Belsington  came,  wafted  by  the  western 
breeze,  over  the  thick-set  and  lofty  oaks  which  inter- 
vened between  the  Frith  and  what  had  been  once 
a   priory.      Doctor   Aldrovando   turned   as  the  sound 


140  MRS.  botherby's  sroRY. 

came  floating  on  the  wind,  and  was  moving,  as  if  half 
in  anger,  towards  the  other  side  of  the  stage,  where 
the  mountebank,  his  fires  extinct,  was  now  disgorging 
to  the  admiring  crowd  yard  after  yard  of  gaudy- 
coloured  riband. 

"  Stay  !  Nay,  prithee  stay  !"  cried  Marsh  eagerly, 
"  I  was  wrong  ;  in  faith  I  was.  A  change,  and  that  a 
sudden  and  most  marvellous,  hath  indeed  come  over 
me ;  I  am  free  ;  I  breathe  again  ;  I  feel  as  though  a 
load  of  years  had  been  removed  ;  and — is  it  possible  ? 
— hast  thou  done  this  ?" 

"  Thomas  Marsh  !"  said  the  doctor,  pausing,  and 
turning  for  the  moment  on  his  heel,  "  I  have  not :  I 
repeat,  that  other  and  more  innocent  hands  than  mine 
have  done  this  deed.  Nevertheless,  heed  my  counsel 
well !  Thou  art  parlously  encompassed  ;  I,  and  I 
only,  have  the  means  of  relieving  thee.  Follow  thy 
courses ;  pursue  thy  journey  ;  but  as  thou  valuest  life 
and  more  than  life,  be  at  the  foot  of  yonder  woody 
knoll  what  time  the  rising  moon  throws  her  first 
beam  upon  the  bare  and  blighted  summit  that  towers 
above  its  trees." 

He  crossed  abruptly  to  the  opposite  quarter  of  the 
scaffolding,  and  was  in  an  instant  deeply  engaged  in 
listening  to  those  whom  the  cow's  horn  had  attracted, 
and  in  prescribing  for  their  real  or  fancied  ailments. 
Vain  were  all  Marsh's  efforts  again  to  attract  his 
notice ;  it  was  evident  that  he  studiously  avoided  him  ; 
and  when,  after  an  hour  or  more  spent  in  useless 
endeavour,  he  saw  the  object  of  his  anxiety  seclude 
Jiimself  once  more  within  his  canvass  screen,  he  rodfl 
slowly  and  thoughtfully  off  the  field. 


THE    LEECH    OF    FOLKESTONE.  141 

What  should  he  do  ?  Was  the  man  a  mere  quack  1 
%ii  impostor  ? — His  name  thus  obtained  ? — that  might 
be  easily  done.  But  then,  his  secret  griefs  :  the  doctor's 
knowledge  of  them ;  their  cure ;  for  he  felt  that  his 
pains  were  gone,  his  healthful  feehngs  restored  ! 

True ;  Aldrovando,  if  that  were  his  name,  had  dis- 
claimed all  co-operation  in  his  recovery  :  but  he  knew, 
or  he  at  least  announced  it.  Nay,  more  ;  he  had  hinted 
that  he  was  yet  in  jeopardy ;  that  practices — and  the 
chord  sounded  strangely  in  unison  with  one  that  had 
before  vibrated  within  him — that  practices  were  in  ope- 
ration against  his  life  !  It  was  enough  !  He  would 
keep  tryst  with  the  Conjurer,  if  conjurer  he  were; 
and,  at  least,  ascertain  who  and  what  he  was,  and 
how  he  had  become  acquainted  with  his  own  person 
and  secret  afflictions. 

When  the  late  Mr.  Pitt  was  determined  to  keep  out 
Bonaparte,  and  prevent  his  gaining  a  settlement  in  the 
county  of  Kent,  among  other  ingenious  devices  adopted 
for  that  purpose,  he  caused  to  be  constructed  what  was 
then,  and  has  ever  since  been,  conventionally  termed  a 
"  Military  Canal."  This  is  a  not  very  practicable  ditch, 
some  thirty  feet  wnde,  and  nearly  nine  feet  deep — in 
the  middle, — extending  from  the  town  and  port  of 
Hithe  to  within  a  mile  of  the  town  and  port  of  Rye,  a 
distance  of  about  twenty  miles ;  and  forming  as  it 
were,  the  cord  of  a  bow,  the  arc  of  which  constitutes 
that  remote  fifth  quarter  of  the  globe  spoken  of  by 
travellers.  Trivial  objections  to  the  plan  were  made  at 
the  time  by  cavillers ;  and  an  old  gentleman  of  the 
neighbourhood,  who  proposed  as  a  cheap  substitute,  to 
put  down  his  own  cocked -hat  upon  a  pole,  was  deserv 


142  MRS.  botherbt's  story. 

edly  pooh-pooh'd  down ;  in  fact,  the  job,  though 
rather  an  expensive  one,  was  found  to  answer  remark- 
ably well.  The  French  managed,  indeed,  to  scramble 
over  the  Rhine,  and  the  Rhone,  and  other  insignificant 
currents;  but  they  never  did,  nor  could,  pass  Mr. 
Pitt's  "  Military  Canal."  At  no  great  distance  from 
the  centre  of  this  cord  rises  abruptly  a  sort  of  woody 
promontory,  in  shape  almost  conical;  its  sides  covered 
with  thick  underwood,  above  which  is  seen  a  bare  and 
brown  summit  rising  like  an  Alp  in  miniature.  The 
"defence  of  the  nation"  not  being  then  in  existence, 
Master  Marsh  met  with  no  obstruction  in  reachins;  this 
place  of  appointment  long  before  the  time  prescribed. 

So  much,  indeed,  was  his  mind  occupied  by  his  adven- 
ture and  extraordinary  cure,  that  his  original  design  had 
been  abandoned,  and  Master  Cobbe  remained  unvisited. 
A  rude  hostel  in  the  neighbourhood  furnished  enter- 
tainment for  man  and  horse ;  and  here,  a  full  hour 
before  the  rising  of  the  moon,  he  left  Ralph  and  the 
other  beasts,  proceeding  to  his  rendezvous  on  foot  and 
alone. 

"You  are  punctual,  Master  Marsh,"  squeaked  th(. 
shrill  voice  of  the  doctor,  issuing  from  the  thicket  as  the 
first  silvery  gleam  trembled  on  the  aspens  above.  "'Ti? 
well :  now  follow  me  and  in  silence." 

The  first  part  of  the  command  Marsh  hesitated  not  to 
obey  ;  the  second  was  more  difficult  of  observance. 

"  Who  and  what  are  you  ?  Whither  are  you  lead- 
hig  me  ?  "  burst  not  unnaturally  from  his  lips  ;  but  all 
question  was  at  once  cut  shoH  by  the  peremptory  tone? 
of  his  guide. 

"Hush!  I   say;  your  finger  on  ]'our  lip,  th^r-j  ht 


THE    LEECH    OF    FOLKESTONE.  143 

Dawks  abroad  :  follow  me,  and  that  silently  and  quickly. 
The  little  man  turned  as  he  spoke,  and  led  the  way 
through  a  scarcely  perceptible  path,  or  track,  which 
wound  among  the  underwood.  The  lapse  of  a  few 
minutes  brought  them  to  the  door  of  a  low  building,  so 
hidden  by  the  surrounding  trees  that  few  would  have 
suspected  its  existence.  It  was  a  cottage  of  rather 
extraordinary  dimensions,  but  consisting  of  only  one 
floor.  No  smoke  rose  from  its  soHtary  chimney;  no 
cheering  ray  streamed  from  its  single  window,  which 
was,  however,  secured  by  a  shutter  of  such  thickness  as 
to  preclude  the  possibility  of  any  stray  beam  issuing 
from  within.  The  exact  size  of  the  building  it  was,  in 
that  uncertain  light,  difficult  to  distinguish,  a  portion  of 
it  seeming  buried  in  the  wood  behind.  The  door  gave 
way  on  the  application  of  a  key,  and  Marsh  followed  his 
conductor  resolutely,  but  cautiously,  along  a  narrow 
passage,  feebly  lighted  by  a  small  taper  that  winked  and 
twinkled  at  its  farther  extremity.  The  Doctor,  as  he 
approached,  raised  it  from  the  ground,  and,  opening  au 
adjoining  door,  ushered  his  guest  into  the  room  beyond. 
It  was  a  large  and  oddly  furnished  apartment,  insuffi- 
ciently lighted  by  an  iron  lamp  that  hung  from  the 
roof,  and  scarcely  illumined  the  walls  and  angles,  which 
seemed  to  be  composed  of  some  dark-cok'Ured  wood. 
On  one  side,  however.  Master  Marsh  could  discover  an 
article  bearing  strong  resembance  to  a  coffin  ;  on  the 
other  was  a  large  oval  mirror  in  an  ebony  frame,  and 
in  the  midst  of  the  floor  was  described,  in  red  chalk,  a 
double  circle,  about  six  feet  in  diameter,  its  inner  verge 
inscribed  with  sundry  hieroglyphics,  agreeably  relieved 
at  intervals  with  an  alternation  of  skulls  and  cross  bones. 


144  MRS.    BOTHERBYS    STORY. 

In  the  very  centre  was  deposited  one  skull  of  such  sur 
passing  size  and  thickness  as  would  have  filled  the  soui 
of  a  Spurzheim  or  De  Ville  with  wonderment.  A  large 
book,  a  naked  sword,  an  hour  glass,  a  chafing  dish,  and 
a  black  cat,  completed  the  list  of  moveables ;  with  the 
exception  of  a  couple  of  tapers  which  stood  on  each  side 
of  the  mirror,  and  which  the  strange  gentleman  now 
proceeded  to  light  from  the  one  in  his  hand.  As  they 
flared  up  with  what  Marsh  thought  a  most  unnatural 
brilliancy,  he  perceived,  reflected  in  the  glass  behind,  a 
dial  suspended  over  the  coffin-like  article  already  men- 
tioned ;  the  hand  was  fast  verging  towards  the  hour  of 
nine.  The  eyes  of  the  little  Doctor  seemed  riveted  on 
the  horologe. 

"  Now  strip  thee.  Master  Marsh,  and  that  quickly : 
untruss,  I  say  !  discard  thy  boots,  doff"  doublet  and  hose, 
and  place  thyself  incontinent  in  yonder  bath." 

The  visiter  cast  his  eyes  again  upon  the  formidable- 
looking  article,  and  perceived  that  it  was  nearly  filled 
with  water.  A  cold  bath,  at  such  an  hour  and  under 
such  auspices,  was  anything  but  inviting :  he  hesitated, 
and  turned  his  eyes  alternately  on  the  Doctor  and  the 
Black  Cat. 

"  Trifle  not  the  time,  man,  an  you  be  wise,"  said  the 
former  :  "  Passion  of  my  heart !  let  but  yon  minute- 
hand  reach  the  hour,  and  tho'i  not  immersed,  thy  life 
were  not  worth  a  pin's  fee  ! " 

The  Black  Cat  gave  vent  to  a  single  Mew, — a  most 
unnatural  sound  for  a  mouser, — it  seemed  as  it  were 
mewed  through  a  cow's  horn. 

"  Quick,  Master  Marsh !  uncase,  or  you  perish !  ** 
repeated  his  strange  host,  throwing  as  he  spoke  a  hand 


THE    LEECH    OF    FOLKESTONE.  145 

fill  of  some  dingy-looking  powders  into  the  brasier, 
"  Behold  the  attack  is  begun ! "  A  thick  cloud  rose 
from  the  embers ;  a  cold  shivering  shook  the  astonished 
Yeoman  ;  sharp  pricking  pains  penetrated  his  ankles 
and  tho  palms  of  his  hands,  and,  as  the  smoke  cleared 
away,  he  distinctly  saw  and  recognised  in  the  mirror  the 
boudoir  of  Marston  Hall. 

The  doors  of  the  well-known  ebony  cabinet  were 
closed;  but  fixed  against  them,»and  standing  out  in 
Btronor  relief  from  the  contrast  afi"orded  by  the  sable 
background,  was  a  waxen  image — of  himself !  It 
appeared  to  be  secured,  and  sustained  in  an  upright 
posture,  by  large  black  pins  driven  through  the  feet  and 
palms,  the  latter  of  which  were  extended  in  a  cruciform 
position.  To  the  right  and  left  stood  his  wife  and  Jose  ; 
in  the  middle,  with  his  back  towards  him,  was  a  figure 
which  he  had  no  difficulty  in  recognising  as  that  of  the 
Leech  of  Folkestone.  The  latter  had  just  succeeded  in 
fastening  the  dexter  hand  of  the  image,  and  was  now 
in  the  act  of  drawing  a  broad  and  keen-edged  sabre 
from  its  sheath.  The  Black  Cat  mewed  again. 
"  Haste  or  you  die ! "  said  the  Doctor, — Marsh  looked 
at  the  dial ;  it  wanted  but  four  minutes  of  nine :  he 
felt  that  the  crisis  of  his  fate  was  come.  Off"  went 
his  heavy  boots ;  doublet  to  the  right,  galligaskins  to 
the  left ;  never  was  man  more  swiftly  disrobed  :  in  two 
minutes,  to  use  an  Indian  expression,  "  he  was  all 
face ! "  in  another  he  was  on  his  back,  and  up  to  his 
chin,  in  a  bath  which  smelt  strongly  as  of  brimstone  and 
garlic. 

"  Heed  well  the  clock  !"  cried  the  Conjuror :  "  with 
the  first  stroke  of  Nine  plunge  thy  head  beneath  the 

nRST    SERIES.  7 


146  MRS.  bothekby's  story. 

water,  suflfer  not  a  hair  above  the  surface ;  plunge 
deeply  or  thou  art  lost  T' 

The  little  man  had  seated  himself  in  the  centre  of 
the  circle  upon  the  large  skull,  elevating  his  legs  at  an 
angle  of  forty-five  degrees.  In  this  position  he  spun 
round  with  a  velocity  to  be  equalled  only  by  that  of  a 
tee-totum,  the  red  roses  on  his  insteps  seeming  to 
describe  a  circle  of  fire.  The  best  buckskins  that  ever 
mounted  at  Melton  h^d  soon  yielded  to  such  rotatory 
friction — but  he  spun  on — the  Cat  mewed,  bats  and 
obscene  birds  fluttered  over  head  ;  Erasmus  was  seen  to 
raise  his  weapon,  the  clock  struck ! — and  Marsh,  who 
had  "  ducked"  at  the  instant,  popped  up  his  head  again, 
spitting  and  sputtering,  half-choked  with  the  infernal 
solution,  which  had  insinuated  itself  into  his  mouth,  and 
ears,  and  nose.  All  disgust  at  his  nauseous  dip,  was, 
however,  at  once  removed,  when,  casting  his  eyes  on  the 
glass,  he  saw  the  consternation  of  the  party  whose 
persons  it  exhibited.  Erasmus  had  evidently  made  his 
blow  and  failed ;  the  figure  was  unmutilated  ;  the  hilt 
remained  in  the  hand  of  the  striker,  while  the  shivered 
blade  lay  in  shining  fragments  on  the  floor. 

The  Conjuror  ceased  his  spinning,  and  brought  him- 
Belf  to  an  anchor;  the  Black  Cat  purred, — its  purring 
seemed  strangely  mixed  with  the  self-satisfied  chuckle 
of  a  human  being. — "Where  had  Marsh  heard  something 
like  it  before  ? 

He  was  rising  from  his  unsavoury  couch,  when  a 
motion  from  the  little  man  checked  him.  "  Rest  where 
you  are,  Thomas  Marsh ;  so  far  all  goes  well,  but  the 
danger  is  not  yet  over !"  He  looked  again,  and  per- 
ceived that  the  shadowy  triumvirate  were  in  deep  and 


THE    LEECH    OF    FOLKESTONE.  14*? 

eager  consultation ;  the  fragments  of  the  shattered 
weapon  appeared  to  undergo  a  close  scrutiny.  The 
result  was  clearly  unsatisfactory ;  the  lips  of  the  parties 
moved  rapidly,  and  much  gesticulation  might  be 
observed,  but  no  sound  fel.  upon  the  ear.  The  hand  of 
the  dial  had  nearly  reached  the  quarter:  at  once  the 
parties  separated :  and  Buckthorne  stood  again  before 
the  figure,  his  hand  armed  with  a  long  and  sharp- 
pointed  misericorde,  a  dagger  little  in  use  of  late,  but 
such  as,  a  century  before,  often  performed  the  part  of  a 
modern  oyster-knife,  in  tickling  the  osteology  of  a  dis- 
mounted cavalier  through  .  the  shelly  defences  of  liis 
plate  armour.  Again  he  raised  his  arm.  "  Duck !" 
roared  the  Doctor,  spinning  away  upon  his  cephalic 
pivot : — the  black  Cat  cocked  his  tail,  and  seemed  to 
mew  the  word  "  Duck  !" — Down  went  Master  Marsh's 
head ; — one  of  his  hands  had  unluckily  been  resting  on 
the  edge  of  the  bath  :  he  drew  it  hastily  in,  but  not  alto- 
gether  scathless ;  the  stump  of  a  rusty  nail,  projecting 
from  the  margin  of  the  bath,  had  caught  and  slightly 
grazed  it.  The  pain  was  more  acute  than  is  usually 
produced  by  such  trivial  accidents ;  and  Marsh,  on  once 
more  raising  his  head,  beheld  the  dagger  of  the  Leech 
sticking  in  the  little  finger  of  the  wax  figure,  which  it 
had  seemingly  nailed  to  the  cabinet  door. 

"  By  my  truly,  a  scape  o'  the  narrowest !"  quoth  the 
Conjuror :  "  the  next  course,  dive  you  not  the  readier, 
there  is  no  more  life  in  you  than  in  a  pickled  herring. — 
What !  courage.  Master  Marsh  :  but  be  heedful ;  an 
they  miss  again,  let  them  bide  the  issue  !" 

He  drew  his  hand  athwart  his  brow  as  he  spoke  and 
dashed  off  the  perspiration,  which  the  violence  of  hia 


148  MRS.    BOTHERBY  S    STORY. 

exercise  liad  drawn  from  every  pore.  Black  Tom 
sprang  upon  the  edge  of  tlie  batli,  and  stared  full  in  tlie 
face  of  the  bather :  his  sea-green  eyes  were  lambent 
with  unholy  fire,  but  their  marvellous  obliquity  of  vision 
was  not  to  be  mistaken  ;  the  very  countenance,  loo ! — 
Could  it  be  ? — the  features  were  feline,  but  their  expres- 
sion was  that  of  the  Jack  Pudding  !  Was  the  Mounte- 
bank a  Cat? — or  the  Cat  a  Mountebank? — it  was  all  a 
mystery  ; — and  Heaven  knows  how  long  Marsh  might 
liave  continued  staring  at  Grimalkin,  had  not  his  atten- 
tion been  again  called  by  Aldrovando  to  the  magic 
mirror. 

Great  dissatisfaction,  not  to  say  dismay,  seemed  now 
to  pervade  the  conspirators ;  Dame  Isabel  was  closely 
inspecting  the  figure's  wounded  hand,  while  Jose  was 
aiding  the  pharmacopolist  to  charge  a  huge  petronel 
with  powder  and  bullets.  The  load  was  a  heavy  one ; 
but  Erasmus  seemed  determined  this  time  to  make  sure 
of  his  object.  Somewhat  of  trepidation  might  be 
observed  in  his  manner  as  he  rammed  down  the  balls, 
and  his  withered  cheek  appeared  to  have  acquired  an 
increase  of  paleness  ;  but  amazement  rather  than  fear 
was  the  prevailing  symptom,  and  his  countenance 
betrayed  no  jot  of  irresolution.  As  the  clock  was  about 
to  chime  half-past  nine,  he  planted  himself  with  a  firm 
foot  in  front  of  the  image,  waved  his  unoccupied  hand 
with  a  cautionary  gesture  to  his  companions,  and,  as 
they  hastily  retired  on  either  side,  brought  the  muzzle 
of  his  weapon  within  half  a  foot  of  his  mark.  As  the 
shadowy  form  was  about  to  draw  the  trigger.  Marsh 
again  plunged  his  head  beneath  the  surface ;  and  the 
wund  of  an  explosion,  as  of  fire-arms,  mingled  with  the 


THE    LEECH    OP    FOLKESTONE.  149 

rush  of  water  that  poured  into  his  ears.  His  immersion 
was  but  momentary,  yet  did,  he  feel  as  though  half 
suffocated  :  he  sprang  from  the  bath,  and,  as  his  eye 
fell  on  the  mirror,  he  saw, — or  thought  he  saw, — the 
Leech  of  Folkestone  lying  dead  on  the  floor  of  his  wife's 
boudoir,  his  head  shattered  to  pieces,  and  his  hand  still 
grasping  the  stock  of  a  bursten  petronel. 

He  saw  no  more ;  his  head  swam,  his  senses  reeled, 
the  whole  room  was  turning  round,  and,  as  he  feL 
to  the  ground,  the  last  impressions  to  which  he  was  con- 
scious were  the  chucklings  of  a  hoarse  laughter,  and  the 
mewings  of  a  Tom  Cat ! 

Master  Marsh  was  found  the  next  morning  by  hia 
bewildered  serving-man,  stretched  before  the  door  of  the 
humble  hostel  at  which  he  sojourned.  His  clothes 
were  somewhat  torn  and  much  bemired  !  and  deeply  did 
honest  Ralph  marvel  that  one  so  staid  and  grave  as 
Master  Marsh  of  Marston  should  thus  have  played  the 
roisterer,  missing,  perchance,  a  profitable  bargain  for  the 
drunken  orgies  of  midnight  wassail,  or  the  endearments 
of  some  rustic  light-o'-love.  Tenfold  was  his  astonish- 
ment increased  when,  after  retracing  in  silence  their 
journey  of  the  preceding  day,  the  Hall,  on  their  arrival 
about  noon,  was  found  in  a  state  of  uttermost  confusion. 
No  wife  stood  there  to  greet  with  the  smile  of  bland 
affection  her  returning  spouse ;  no  page  to  hold  his 
stirrup,  or  receive  his  gloves,  his  hat,  and  riding-rod. — 
The  doors  were  open,  the  rooms  in  most  admired 
disorder;  men  and  maidens  peeping,  hurrying  hither 
and  thither,  and  popping  in  and  out,  like  rabbits  in  a 
warren. — The  lady  of  the  mansion  was  nowhere  to  l>e 
found. 


160  MRS.  botherby's  stort. 

Jose,  too,  had  disappeared ;  the  latter  had  been  last 
seen  riding  furiously  towards  Folkestone  early  in  the 
preceding  afternoon ;  to  a  question  from  Hodge  Gar- 
dener he  had  hastily  answered,  that  he  bore  a  missive 
of  moment  from  his  mistress.  The  lean  apprentice  of 
Erasmus  Buckthorne  declared  that  the  page  had  sum- 
moned his  master,  in  haste,  about  six  of  the  clock,  and 
that  they  had  rode  forth  together,  as  he  verily  believed, 
on  their  way  back  to  the  Hall,  where  he  had  supposed 
Master  Buckthorne's  services  to  be  suddenly  required  on 
some  pressing  emergency.  Since  that  time  he  had  seen 
nought  of  either  of  them :  the  grey  cob,  however,  had 
returned  late  at  night,  masterless,  with  his  girths  loose, 
and  the  saddle  turned  upside  down. 

Nor  was  Master  Erasmus  Buckthorne  ever  seen  again. 
Strict  search  was  made  through  the  neighbourhood,  but 
without  success ;  and  it  was  at  length  presumed  that 
he  must,  for  reasons  which  nobody  could  divine,  have 
absconded,  together  with  Jose  and  his  faithless  mistress. 
The  latter  had  carried  off  with  her  the  strong  box,  divers 
articles  of  valuable  plate,  and  jewels  of  price.  Her 
boudoir  appeared  to  have  be^n  completely  ransacked ; 
the  cabinet  and  drawers  stood  open  and  empty;  the 
very  carpet,  a  luxury  then  newly  introduced  into  Eng- 
land, was  gone.  Marsh,  however,  could  trace  no  vestige 
of  the  visionary  scene  which  he  affirmed  to  have  been 
last  night  presented  to  his  eyes. 

Much  did  the  neighbours  marvel  at  his  story: — 
some  thought  him  mad  ;  others,  that  he  was  merely 
indulging  in  that  privilege  to  which,  as  a  traveller,  he 
had  a  right  indefeasible.  Trusty  Ralph  said  nothing, 
but  shrugged  his  shoulders  ;  and,  falling  into  the  rear, 


THE    LEECH    OF    FOLKESTONE.  151 

imitated  tlie  act  on  of  raising  a  wine-cup  to  his  lips, 
An  opinion,  indeed,  soon  prevailed,  that  Master  Thomas 
Marsh  had  gotten,  in  common  parlance,  exceedingly 
drunk  on  the  preceding  evening,  and  had  dreamt  all 
that  he  so  circumstantially  related.  This  belief  acquired 
additional  credit  when  they,  whom  curiosity  induced  to 
visit  the  woody  knoll  of  Aldington  Mount,  declared  that 
they  could  find  no  building  such  as  that  described,  nor 
any  cottage  near ;  save  one,  indeed,  a  low-roofed  hovel, 
once  a  house  of  public  entertainment,  but  now  half  in 
ruins.  The  "  Old  Cat  and  Fiddle " — so  was  the  tene- 
ment called — had  been  long  uninhabited ;  yet  still  ex- 
hibited the  remains  of  a  broken  sign,  on  which  the  keen 
observer  might  decipher  something  like  a  rude  portrait 
of  the  animal  from  which  it  derived  its  name.  It  was 
also  supposed  still  to  afford  an  occasional  asylum  to  the 
smugglers  of  the  coast,  but  no  trace  of  any  visit  from 
sage  or  mountebank  could  be  detected ;  nor  was  the 
wise  Aldrovando,  whom  many  remembered  to  have 
seen  at  the  fair,  ever  found  again  on  all  that  country 
side. 

Of  the  runaways,  nothing  was  ever  certainly  known. 
A  boat,  the  property  of  an  old  fisherman  who  plied  his 
trade  on  the  outskirts  of  the  town,  had  been  seen  to 
quit  the  bay  that  night ;  and  there  were  those  who  de- 
clared that  she  had  more  hands  on  board  than  Garden 
and  his  son,  her  usual  complement ;  but,  as  a  gale  came 
on,  and  the  frail  bark  was  eventually  found  keel  upwards 
on  the  Goodwin  Sands,  it  was  presumed  that  she  had 
struck  on  that  fatal  quicksand  in  the  dark,  and  that  all 
on  board  had  perished. 

Little   Marian,    whom    her    profligate    mother   had 


152 

abandoned,  grew  up  to  be  a  fine  girl,  ard  a  handsome. 
Slie  became,  moreover,  heiress  to  Marston  Hail,  and 
brought  the  estate  into  the  Ingoldsby  family  by  her 
mari-iage  with  one  of  its  scions. 

Thus  far  Mrs.  Botherby. 

It  is  a  little  singular  that,  on  pulling  down  the  old 
Hall  in  my  grandfather's  time,  a  human  skeleton  waa 
discovered  among  the  rubbish :  under  what  particular 
part  of  the  building,  I  could  never  with  any  accuracy 
ascertain ;  but  it  was  found  enveloped  in  a  tattered 
cloth,  that  seemed  to  have  been  once  a  carpet,  and 
which  fell  to  pieces  almost  immediately  on  being  ex- 
posed to  the  air.  The  bones  were  perfect,  but  those  of 
one  hand  were  wanting ;  and  the  skull,  perhaps  from 
the  labourer's  pick-axe,  had  received  considerable  injury ; 
the  worm-eaten  stock  of  an  old-fashioned  pistol  lay 
near,  together  with  a  rusty  piece  of  iron  which  a  work- 
man, more  sagacious  than  his  fellows,  pronounced  a 
portion  of  the  lock,  but  nothing  was  found  which  the 
utmost  stretch  of  human  ingenuity  could  twist  into  a 
barrel. 

The  portrait  of  the  fair  Marian  hangs  yet  in  the 
Gallery  of  Tappington ;  and  near  it  is  another,  of  a 
young  man  in  the  prime  of  life,  whom  Mrs.  Botherby 
affirms  to  be  that  of  her  father.  It  exhibits  a  mild  and 
rather  melancholy  countenance,  with  a  high  forehead, 
and  the  peaked  beard  and  moustaches  of  the  seventeenth 
century.  The  signet-finger  of  the  left  hand  is  gone, 
and  appears,  on  close  inspection,  to  have  been  painted 
out  by  some  later  artist ;  possibly  in  compliment  to  the 
tradition,  which,  teste  Botherhy^  records  that  of  Mr. 
Marsh  to  i^ave  gangrened,  and  to  have  undergone  ftn- 


THE    LEECH    OF    FOLKESTONE.  ittO 

putation  at  ihe  knuckle-joiut.  If  really  the  resemblance 
of  the  gentleman  alluded  to,  it  must  have  been  taken 
at  some  period  antecedent  to  his  marriage.  There  is 
neither  date  nor  painter's  name  ;  but,  a  little  above  the 
head,  on  the  dexter  side  of  the  picture,  is  an  escutcheon, 
bearing  "  Quarterly,  Gules  and  Argent,  in  the  first 
quarter  a  horse's  head  of  the  second ;"  beneath  it  are 
the  words  "  ^tatis  sucb  26."  On  the  opposite  side  is 
a  mark,  which  Mr.  Simpkinson  declares  to  be  that  of  a 
Merchant  of  the  Staple,  and  pretends  to  discover,  in  the 
monogram  comprised  in  it,  all  the  characters  which 
compose  the  name  of  TEOMAS  MABSH,  ol 
MARSTON. 


Respect  for  the  feelings  of  an  honourable  fjimily, — ■ 
nearly  connected  with  the  Ingoldsbys, — has  induced 
me  to  veil  the  real  "  sponsorial  and  patronymic  appel- 
lations "  of  my  next  hero  under  a  sobriquet  interfering 
neither  with  rhyme  nor  rhythm.*  I  shall  merely  add 
that  every  incident  in  the  story  bears,  on  the  face  of  it, 
the  stamp  of  veracity,  and  that  many  "  persons  of 
honour"  in  the  county  of  Berks  who  well  recollected 
Sir  George  Rooke's  expedition  against  Gibraltar,  would, 
if  .they  were  now  alive,  gladly  bear  testimony  to  the 
truth  of  every  syllable. 

*  Pack  o'  nonsense ! — Every  body  as  belongs  to  him  is  dead  and  gone — 
and  every  body  knows  that  the  poor  young  gentleman's  real  name  wasn't 
Sobriquet  at  all,  but  Hampden  Pye,  Esq.,  and  that  one  of  his  uncles— or 
cousins — used  to  make  verses  about  the  king  and  the  queen,  and  had  a 
sack  of  money  for  doing  it  every  year; — and  that's  his  picture  in  the  blue 
coat  and  little  gold-laced  cocked  hat,  that  hangs  on  the  stairs  over  the  door 
of  the  passage  that  leads  to  the  bhie  room. — Sobnquct  7 — but  there! — The 
Squire  wrote  it  after  dinner  ! 

Elizabeth  Botherbv. 


155 


LEGEND  OF  HAMILTON  TIGHE. 

The  Captain  is  walking  his  quarter-deck, 
"With  a  troubled  brow  and  a  bended  neck ; 
One  eye  is  down  through  the  hatchway  cast, 
The  other  turns  up  to  the  truck  on  the  raast  • 
Yet  none  of  the  crew  may  venture  to  hint 
"  Our  Skipper  hath  gotten  a  sinister  squint  I  ** 

The  Captain  again  the  letter  hath  read 

Which  the  bum-boat  woman  brought  out  to  Spithead — 

Still,  since  the  good  ship  sail'd  away, 

He  reads  that  letter  three  times  a-day  ; 

Yet  the  writing  is  broad  and  fair  to  see. 

As  a  Skipper  may  read  in  his  degree. 

And  the  seal  is  as  black,  and  as  broad,  and  as  flat,        , 

As  his  own  cockade  in  his  own  cock'd  hat : 

He  reads,  and  he  says,  as  he  walks  to  and  fro, 

"  Curse  the  old  woman — she  bothers  me  so  I  " 

He  pauses  now,  for  the  topmen  hail — 

"  On  the  larboard  quarter  a  sail !  a  sail !  " 

Tliat  grim  old  Captain  he  turns  him  quick. 

And  bawls  through  his  trumpet  for  Hairy-faced  IMck. 

"  The  breeze  is  blowing — ^huzza !  huzza  1 

The  breeze  is  blowing — away !  away  I 

The  breeze  is  blowing — a  race !  a  race ! 

The  breeze  is  blowing — we  near  the  chase  I 

Blood  will  flow,  and  bullets  will  fly, — 

Oh  where  will  be  then  young  Hamilton  Tighe  1  ** 

— "  On  the  foeman's  deck,  where  a  man  should  be. 
"With  his  sword  in  hie  hand,  and  his  foe  at  his  knee. 
Cockswain  or  boatswain,  or  reefer  may  try, 
But  the  first  man  on  board  will  be  Hamilton  Tighe  1' 
»  *  *  * 


156 


LEGEND    OP 


Hairj-faced  Dick  hath  a  swarthy  hue, 
Between  a  ginger-bread-nut  and  a  Jew, 
And  his  pigtail  is  long,  and  bushy,  and  thick, 
Like  a  pump-handle  stuck  on  the  end  of  a  stick 
Hairy -traced  Dick  understands  his  trade; 
He  stands  by  the  breech  of  a  long  carronad^ 
The  linstock  glows  in  his  bony  hand. 
Waiting  thai  grim  old  Skipper's  command. 

"  The  bullets  are  flying — ^huzza  1  huzza  I 

The  bullets  are  flying — away  1   away  I  " — 

The  brawny  boarders  mount  by  the  chains. 

And  are  over  their  buckles  in  blood  and  in  brains: 

On  the  foeman's  deck,  where  a  man  should  be, 

Young  Hamilton  Tighe 

"Waves  his  cutlass  high. 
And  Capitaine  Crapaud  bends  low  at  his  knee. 

Hairy-faced  Dick,  linstock  in  hand, 

Is  waiting  that  grim-looking  Skipper's  command : — 

A  wink  comes  sly 

From  that  sinister  eye — 
Hairy-faced  Dick  at  once  lets  fly, 
And  knocks  off  the  head  of  yonng  Hamilton  Tighe! 
There's  a  lady  sits  lonely  in  bower  and  hall, 
Her  pages  and  handmaidens  come  at  her  call : 
"  Now,  haste  ye,  my  handmaidens,  haste  and  see 
How  he  sits  there  and  glow'rs  with  his  head  on  his  knee 
The  maidens  smile,  and,  her  thoughts  to  destroy. 
They  bring  her  a  little,  pale,  mealy-faced  boy; 
And  the  mealy-faced  boy  says,   *'  Mother  dear, 
Now  Hamilton's  dead,  I've  a  thousand  a  year  I " 

The  lady  has  donn'd  her  mantle  and  hood, 
She  is  bound  for  shrift  at  St,  Mary's  Rood  ; — 
"  Oh !  the  taper  shall  burn,  and  the  bell  sha?"  toll. 
And  the  mass  shall  be  said  for  my  step-son'    iO^\ 
And  the  tablet  fair  shall  be  hung  on  hig>  . 
Orate  pro  animd  Hamilton  llghe  I " 


HAMILTON    TIGHE.  167 

Her  coach  and  four 

Draws  up  to  the  door 
With  her  groom,  and  her  footman,  and  half  a  score  mor<» 
The  Lady  steps  into  her  coach  alone, 
And  they  hear  her  sigh,  and  they  hear  her  groan  ; 
Tliey  close  the  door,  and  they  turn  the  pin. 
But  there^s  One  rides  with  her  that  never  stepped  in  I 
All  the  way  there  and  all  the  way  back, 
The  harness  strains,  and  the  coach-springs  crack. 
The  horses  snort,  and  plunge,  and  kick. 
Till  the  coachman  thinks  he  is  driving  Old  Nick ; 
And  the  grooms  and  the  footmen  wonder,  and  say, 
"  What  makes  the  old  coach  so  heavy  to-day  ?" 
But  the  mealy-faced  boy  peeps  in,  and  sees 
A  man  sitting  there  with  his  head  on  his  knees ! 

Tis  ever  the  same, — in  hall  or  in  bower, 
Wherever  the  place,  whatever  the  hour, 
That  Lady  mutters,  and  talks  to  the  air. 
And  her  eye  is  fixed  on  an  empty  chair ; 
But  the  mealy-faced  boy  still  whispers  with  dread, 
"She  talks  to  a  man  with  never  a  head !  " 

***** 
There's  an  old  Yellow  Admiral  living  at  Bath, 
As  gray  as  a  badger,  as  thin  as  a  lath ; 
And  his  very  queer  eyes  have  such  very  queer  leera, 
They  seem  to  be  trying  to  peep  at  his  ears ; 
That  old  Yellow  Admiral  goes  to  the  Rooms, 
And  he  plays  long  whist,  but  he  frets  and  he  fumes, 
For  all  his  Knaves  stand  upside  down. 
And  the  Jack  of  Clnbs  does  nothing  but  frown; 
And  the  Kings,  and  the  Aces,  and  all  the  best  trump* 
Get  into  the  hands  of  the  other  old  frumps ; 
While,  close  to  his  partner,  a  man  he  sees 
Counting  the  tricks  with  his  head  on  his  knees. 

In  Ratcliffe  Highway  there's  an  old  marine  store, 
And  a  pxeat  black  doll  hangs  out  at  the  dcor; 
Ther^i  are  rusty  locks  and  dusty  bags, 
And  tnusty  phials,  and  fusty  raga, 


158  LEGiSND    OF    HAMILTON    TIGHE. 

And  a  lusty  old  woman,  call'd  Thirsty  Nan, 
And  her  crusty  old  husband's  a  Hairy-faced  man ! 

That  Hairy -faced  man  is  sallow  and  wan. 
And  his  great  thick  pigtail  is  witliered  and  gone  ; 
And  he  cries,  "Take  away  that  lubberly  chap 
That  sits  there  and  grins  with  his  head  in  his  lap  I  " 
And  the  neighbours  say,  as  they  see  him  look  sick, 
"  What  a  rum  old  covey  is  Hairy-faced  Dick  I  " 

That  Admiral,  Lady,  and  Hairy-faced  man 

May  say  what  they  please,  and  may  do  what  they  caa 

But  one  thing  seems  remarkably  clear, — 

They  may  die  to-morrow,  or  live  till  next  year, — 

But  wherever  they  live,  or  whenever  they  die. 

They'll  never  get  quit  of  young  Hamilton  Tighe. 


The  When, — the  Where, — and  the  How, — of  the 
succeeding  narrative  speak  for  themselves.  It  may  be 
proper,  however,  to  observe,  that  the  ruins  here  alluded 
to,  and  improperly  termed  "  the  Abbey,"  are  not  those 
of  Bolsover,  described  in  a  preceding  page,  but  the 
remains  of  a  Preceptory  once  belonging  to  the  Knights 
Templars,  situate  near  Swynfield,  Swinkefield,  or,  as  it  is 
now  generally  spell  and  pronounced,  Swingfield,  Minnis, 
a  rouo-h  tract  of  common  land  now  undergoing  the 
process  of  enclosure,  and  adjoining  the  woods  and  arable 
lands  of  Tappington,  at  the  distance  of  some  two  miles 
from  the  Hall,  to  the  South-eastern  windows  of  which 
the  time-worn  walls  in  question,  as  seen  over  the  int«r- 
vening  coppices,  present  a  picturesque  and  striking 
object 


159 


THE   WITCHES'    FROLIC. 

Scene,  the  "Snuggery"  at  Tappington- — Grandpapa  ir.  4  high-backed 
cane-bottoined  elbow-chair  of  carved  walnut-tree,  dozing  ;  kiS  nose  at  ai 
angle  of  forty-five  degrees, — his  thumbs  slowly  perform  the  rotatorj 
motion  described  by  lexicographers  as  "twiddling." — The  "Hope  of  the 
family"  astride  on  a  walking-stick,  with  burnt-cork  niustachios,  and  a 
pheasant's  tail  pinned  in  his  cap,  solaceth  himself  with  martial  music. — 
Roused  by  a  strain  of  surpassing  dissonance,  Grandpapa  loquitur.] 

Come  hither,  come  hither,  my  little  boy  Ned  I 

Come  hither  unto  my  knee— 
I  cannot  away  with  that  horrible  din, 
That  sixpenny  drum,  and  that  trumpet  of  tin. 
Oh,  better  to  wander  frank  and  free 
Through  the  Fair  of  good  Saint  Bartlemy, 
Than  list  to  such  awful  minstrelsie. 
Now  lay,  little  Ned,  those  nuisances  by, 
And  I'll  rede  ye  a  lay  of  Gramraarye. 

\3randpapa  riseth,  yawneth  like  the  crater  of  an  extinct  volcano,  pro 
ceedeth  slowly  to  the  window,  and  apostrojjhizeth  the  Abbey  in  th« 
distance.] 

I  love  thy  tower,  Grey  ruin, 
I  joy  thy  form  to  see, 

Though  reft  of  all. 

Cell,  cloister,  and  hall. 
Nothing  is  left  save  a  tottering  Avail 
That  awfully  grand  and  darkly  dull. 
Threatened  to  fall  and  demolish  my  skull. 
As,  ages  ago,  I  wander'd  along 
Careless  thy  grass-grown  courts  among. 
In  sky-blue  jacket,  and  trowsors  laced. 
The  latter  uncommonly  short  in  the  waiitt 


160  THE  witches'  frolic. 

Thoa  art  dearer  to  me,  thou  Ruin  grey, 
Than  the  Squire's  verandah  over  the  way ; 
And  fairer,  I  weftn. 
The  ivy  sheen 
That  thy  mouldering  turret  binds, 
Thau  the  Alderman's  house  about  half  a  mile  off, 
With  the  green  Venetian  blinds. 

Full  many  a  tale  would  my  Grandam  tell. 

In  many  a  bygone  day, 
Of  darksome  deeds,  which  of  old  befell 

In  thee,  thou  Ruin  grey  1 
A.nd  I  the  readiest  ear  would  lend. 

And  stare  like  frighten'd  pig ! 
While  my  Grandfather's  hair  would  have  stood  up  on  end, 

Had  he  not  worn  a  wig. 

One  tale  I  remember  of  mickle  dread — 
Now  lithe  and  listen,  my  little  boy  Ned  I 

***** 
Thou  mayest  have  read,  my  little  boy  Ned, 

Though  thy  mother  thine  idlesse  blames. 
In  Doctor  Goldsmith's  history  book. 

Of  a  gentleman  called  King  James, 
In  quilted  doublet,  and  great  trunk  breeches. 
Who  held  in  abhorrence  Tobacco  and  Witches. 
Well, — in  King  James's  golden  days, — 

For  the  days  were  golden  then, — 
They  cr  aid  not  be  less,  for  good  Queen  Bess 

Had  died,  aged  three  score  and  ten. 
And  her  days  we  know. 
Were  all  of  them  so ; 
"While  the  Court  poets  sung,  and  the  Court  gallants  a  wore 
That  the  days  were  as  golden  still  as  before. 

Some  people,  'tis  true,  a  troublesome  few, 

Who  historical  points  would  unsettle, 
Have  lately  thrown  out  a  sort  of  a  doubt 

Of  the  genuine  ring  of  the  metal ; 


THE    witches'    frolic.  161 

But  who  can  believe  to  a  monarch  so  wise 
People  would  dare  tell  a  parcel  of  lies  ! 

— "Well,  then,  in  good  King  James's  days, — 

Golden  or  not  does  not  matter  a  jot, — 

Yon  Paiin  a  sort  of  a  roof  had  got ; 

For  though,  repairs  lacking,  its  walls  had  been  cracking 

Since  Harry  the  Eighth  sent  its  people  a-packing, 

Though  joists,  and  floors, 

And  windows,  and  doors 
Had  all  disappear'd,  yet  pillars  by  scores 
Remain'd,  and  still  propp'd  up  a  ceiling  or  two, 
While  the  belfry  was  almost  as  good  as  new ; 
You  are  not  to  suppose  matters  look'd  just  so 
In  the  Ruin  some  two  hundred  years  ago. 

Just  in  that  farthermost  angle,  where 

There  ar^i  still  the  remains  of  a  ^vdnding-stair, 

One  turret  especially  high  in  air 

Uprear'd  its  tall  gaunt  form  ; 
As  if  defying  the  power  of  Fate,  or 
The  hand  of  "  Time  the  Innovator ;" 

And  though  to  the  pitiless  storm 
Its  weaker  brethren  all  around 
Bowing,  in  ruin  had  strew'd  the  ground, 
Alone  it  stood,  while  its  fellows  lay  strew'd, 
Like  a  four-bottle  man  in  a  company  "  screw'd," 
Not  firm  on  his  legs,  but  by  no  means  subdued. 

One  night — 'twas  in  sixteen  hundred  and  six, — 
I  like  when  I  can,  Ned,  the  date  to  fix, — 

The  month  was  May, 

Though  I  can't  well  say 
At  this  distance  of  time  the  particular  day — 
Bnt  oil !  tliat  night,  that  horrible  night! 
—Folks  ever  afterwards  said  with  affright 
That  they  never  had  seen  such  a  terrible  sight. 


162 


THE    WITCHES     FROLIC. 


The  Sun  had  gone  down  fiery  red ; 

And  if  that  evening  he  laid  his  head 

In  Thetis's  lap  beneath  the  seas, 

He  must  have  scalded  the  goddess's  knee& 

He  left  behind  him  a  lurid  track 

Of  blood-red  light  upon  clouds  so  black, 

That  Warren  and  Hunt,  with  the  whole  of  tl  eir  crew, 

Could  scarcely  have  given  them  a  darker  hue. 

There  came  a  shrill  and  a  whistling  sound, 
Above,  beneath,  beside,  and  around. 

Yet  leaf  ne'er  moved  on  tree  I 
So  that  some  people  thought  old  Belzebub  must 
Have  been  lock'd  out  of  doors,  and  was  blowing  the  dust 
From  the  pipe  of  his  street-door  key. 
And  then  a  hollow  moaning  Mast 
Came,  sounding  more  dismally  still  than  the  last ; 
And  the  lightning  flash'd  and  the  thunder  growl'd. 
And  louder  and  louder  the  tempest  howl'd. 
And  the  rain  came  down  in  such  sheets  as  would  stagger  a 
Bard  for  a  simile  short  of  Niagara, 

Rob  Gilpin  "was  a  citizen;'* 

But  though  of  some  "renown,** 
Of  no  great  "credit"  in  his  own. 

Or  any  other  town. 

He  was  a  wild  and  roving  lad. 

For  ever  in  the  alehouse  boozing; 
Or  romping, — which  is  quite  as  bad,— 

With  female  friends  of  his  own  choosing. 

And  Rob  this  very  day  had  made, 

Not  dreaming  such  a  storm  was  brewing, 

An  assignation  with  Miss  Slade, — 

Their  trysting-place  that  same  grey  Ruin. 

But  Gertrude  Slade  became  afraid, 
And  to  keep  her  appointment  unwilling 


THE    witches'    frolic.  108 

Wlien  she  spied  the  rain  on  her  window-pane 

In  drops  as  big  as  a  shilling ; 
She  put  off  her  hat  and  her  mantle  again,— 
"  He'll  never  expect  me  in  all  this  rain ! " 

But  little  he  recks  of  the  fears  of  the  sex. 

Or  that  maiden  false  to  her  tryst  could  be, 
He  had  stood  there  a  good  half  hour 
Ere  yet  had  commenced  that  perilous  shower, 

Alone  by  the  trystingtreel 

Robin  looks  east,  Robin  looks  west, 

But  he  sees  not  her  whom  he  loves  the  best; 

Robin  looks  up,  and  Robin  looks  down. 

But  no  one  comes  from  the  neighbouring  town 

The  storm  came  at  last, — ^loud  roar'd  the  blast, 
And  the  shades  of  evening  fell  thick  and  fast; 
The  tempest  grew  ;  and  the  straggling  yew, 
His  leafy  umbrella,  was  wet  through  and  through 
Rob  was  half  dead  with  cold  and  fright, 
When  he  spies  in  the  Ruins  a  twinkling  light — 
A  hep,  two  skips,  and  a  jump,  and  straight 
Rob  stands  within  that  postern  gate. 

And  there  were  gossips  sitting  there. 

By  one,  by  two,  by  three : 

Two  were  an  old  ill-favour'd  pair , 

But  the  third  was  young,  and  passing  fair. 
With  laughing  eyes,  and  with  coal-black  hair 

A  dainty  quean  was  she  I 
Rob  would  have  given  his  ears  to  sip 
But  a  single  salute  from  her  cherry  lip. 

As  they  sat  in  that  old  and  haunted  room. 
In  each  one's  hand  was  a  huge  birch  broom. 
On  each  one's  head  was  a  steeple-crown'd  hat, 
On  each  one's  knee  was  a  coal-black  cat ; 


164  THE  witches'  frolic. 

Each  had  a  kirtle  of  Liucoln  green- 
It  was,  I  trow,  a  fearsome  scene. 

"Now  riddle  me,  riddle  me  right,  Madge  Gray, 
What  foot  unhallow'd  wends  this  way  ? 
Goody  Price,  Goody  Price,  now  areed  me  aright, 
Who  roams  the  old  Ruins  this  di-earysome  night  P 

Then  up  and  spake  that  sonsie  quean. 
And  she  spake  both  loud  and  clear ; 
"  Oh,  be  it  for  weal,  or  be  it  for  woe, 
Enter  friend,  or  enter  foe, 
Rob  Gilpin  is  welcome  here  ! — 

**  Now  tread  we  a  measure  1  a  hall  I  a  hall  I 
Now  tread  we  a  measure,"  quoth  she — 
The  heart  of  Robin 
Beat  thick  and  throbbing — 
"Roving  Bob,  tread  a  measure  with  me  I " 
"Ay,  lassie  I"  quoth  Rob,  as  her  hand  he  gripes, 
"Though  Satan  himself  were  blowing  the  pipes.  * 

Now  around  they  go,  and  around,  and  around. 
With  hop-skip-and-jump,  and  frolicsome  bound. 

Such  sailing  and  gliding. 

Such  sinking  and  sliding, 

Such  lofty  curvetting, 

And  grand  pirouetting ; 
Ned,  you  would  swear  that  Monsieur  Gilbert 
And  Miss  Taglioni  were  capering  there  1 

And  oh !  such  awful  music ! — ne'er 

Fell  sounds  so  uncanny  on  mortal  ear, 

There  were  the  tones  of  a  dying  man's  groans 

Mix'd  with  the  rattling  of  dead  men's  bones: 

Had  you  heard  the  shrieks,  and  the  squeals  and  iHwi  squ<(%afc 

You'd  not  have  forgotten  the  sound  for  weeks. 

And  around,  and  around,  and  around  they  go. 
Heel  to  heel,  and  toe  to  toe, 


THE    WITCH "JS'    FROLIC.  165 

Prance  aud  caper,  curvet  acd  wheel. 
Toe  to  toe,  and  heel  to  heel. 

"'Tis  merry,  'tis  merry.  Cummers,  T  trow. 

To  dance  thus  beneath  the  nightshade  bough  I  ** 

"  Goody  Price,  Goody  Price,  now  riddle  me  right, 
Where  may  we  sup  this  frolicsome  night  I " 

"Mine  host  of  the  Dragon  hath  mutton  and  veal ! 

The  Squire  hath  partridge,  and  widgeon,  and  teal; 

But  old  Sir  Thopas  hath  daintier  cheer, 

A  pasty  made  of  the  good  red  deer, 

A  huge  grouse  pie,  and  a  fine  Florentine, 

A  fat  roast  goose,  and  a  turkey  and  chine." 

— "  Madge  Gray,  Madge  Gray, 

Now  tell  me,  I  pray, 

Where's  the  best  wassail  bowl  to  our  roundelay!" 

" — ^There  is  ale  in  the  cellars  of  Tappington  Hall, 
But  the  Squire*  is  a  churl,  and  his  drink  is  small; 

Mine  host  of  the  Dragon 

Hath  many  a  flaggon 
Of  double  ale,  lamb's  wool,  and  eau  de  vie. 

But  Sir  Thopas  the  Vicar, 

Hath  costlier  liquor, — 
A  butt  of  the  choicest  Malvoisie 

He  doth  not  lack 

Canary  or  sack ; 
And  a  good  pint  stoop  of  Clary  wine 
Smacks  merrily  off  with  a  Turkey  and  Chine  l** 

"  Now  away  I  and  away !  without  delay. 
Hey  Cocholorum  !  my  Broomstick  gay ! 

•  Stephen  Ingoldsby,  suraamed  "  The  Niggard,"  second  cousin  and  suo 
eessor  to  *'The  Bad  Sir  Giles."  (Visitation  of  Kent,  16G6.)  For  an 
ncconnt  of  his  murder  by  burglars,  aud  their  subsequent  execution,  see 
Dodsley'B  "  Remarkable  Trials,"  «fec.  London.  17T0,  vol.  11.  p.  2G4,  ex  thv 
volume,  Art.  "  Hand  of  Glory." 


166  THE  witches'  frolic. 

We  must  be  back  ere  the  dawn  of  the  day  , 
Hej  up  the  chimney  I  away!  away  I" — 

Old  Goody  Price 

Mounts  in  a  trice, 
In  showing  her  legs  she  is  not  over  nice ; 

Old  Goody  Jones, 

All  skin  and  bones. 
Follows  "  like  winking." — Away  go  the  cronee^ 
Knees  and  nose  in  a  line  with  the  toes, 
Sitting  their  brooms  like  so  many  Ducrows ; 

Latest  and  last 

The  damsel  pass'd. 
One  glance  of  her  coal-black  eye  she  cast ; 
She  laugh'd  with  glee  loud  laughters  three, 
"Dost  fear,  Rob  Gilpin,  to  ride  with  me?" — 
Oh,  never  might  man  unseath'd  espy 
One  single  glance  from  that  coal-black  eye. 

— Away  she  flew  1 — 

Without  more  ado 
Rob  seizes  and  mounts  on  a  broomstick  too, 
"  Hey !  up  the  chimney,  lass  I     Hey  after  you  I* 

It's  a  very  fine  thing,  on  a  fine  day  in  June, 
To  ride  through  the  air  in  a  Nassau  Balloon ; 
But  you'll  find  very  soon,  if  you  aim  at  the  Moon 
In  a  carriage  like  that,  you're  a  bit  of  a  *'  Spoon," 

For  the  largest  can't  fly 

Above  twenty  miles  high. 
And  you're  not  half  way  then  on  your  journey,  nor  nigh , 

While  no  man  alive 

Could  ever  contrive, 
Mr.  Green  has  declared,  to  get  higher  than  five. 
And  the  soundest  Philosophers  hold  that,  perhaps. 
If  you  reach'd  twenty  miles  your  balloon  woidd  cona;)8e, 

Or  pass  by  such  action 

The  sphere  of  attraction, 
Getting  into  the  track  of  some  Comet — Good-lack  I 
Tis  a  thousand  to  one  tha^,  you'd  never  come  back ; 


THE  witches'  frolic.  167 

And  the  boldest  of  raortals  a  danger  like  that  must  fear 
Rashly  protruding  beyond  our  own  atmosphere. 

No,  no ;  when  I  try 

A  trip  to  the  sky, 
I  shan't  go  in  that  thing  of  yours,  Mr.  Gye, 
Though  Messieurs  Monk  Mason,  and  Spencer,  and  Beazly 
AH  join  in  saying  it  travels  so  easily. 

No ;  there's  nothing  so  good 

As  a  pony  of  wood — 
Not  hke  that  which,  of  late,  they  stuck  up  on  the  gate 
At  the  end  of  the  Park,  which  caused  so  much  debate, 
And  gave  so  much  trouble  to  make  it  stand  straight, — 

But  a  regular  Broomstick— you'll  find  that  the  favourite- 
Above  all,  when,  like  Robin,  you  haven't  to  pay  for  it. 

— Stay — really  I  dread — 

I  am  losing  the  thread 
Of  my  tale  ;  and  it's  time  you  should  be  in  your  bed. 
So  lithe  now,  and  listen,  my  little  boy  Nedl 

******* 
The  Vicarage  walls  are  lofty  and  thick. 
And  the  copings  are  stone,  and  the  sides  are  brick, 
The  casements  are  narrow,  and  bolted  and  barrM, 
And  the  stout  oak  door  is  heavy  and  hard ; 
Moreover,  by  way  of  additional  guard, 
A  great  big  dog  runs  loose  in  the  yard. 
And  a  horse-shoe  is  nail'd  on  the  threshold  sill, — 
To  keep  out  aught  that  savours  of  ill, — 
But,  alack  1  the  chimney-pot's  open  still  I 
— That  great  big  dog  begins  to  quail, 
Between  his  hind-legs  he  drops  his  tail. 
Crouch'd  on  the  ground,  the  terrified  hound 
Gives  vent  to  a  very  odd  sort  of  a  sound  ; 
It  Js  n<^t  a  bark,  loud,  open,  and  free, 
As  an  honest  old  watch-dog's  bark  should  be ; 
It  is  not  a  yelp,  it  is  not  a  growl, 
But  a  something  between  a  whine  and  a  howl 
And,  hark ! — a  sound  from  the  wirdow  high 


1 68  THE  witches'  fkolic, 

Kesponds  to  the  watch-dog's  pitiful  cry : 

It  is  not  a  moan, 

It  is  not  a  groan : 
It  comes  from  a  nose, — ^but  is  not  what  a  ncse 
Produces  in  healthy  and  sound  repose. 
Yet  Sir  Thopas  the  Vicar  is  fast  asleep, 
And  his  respirations  are  heavy  and  deep  1 

He  snores,  'tis  true,  but  he  snores  no  more 

As  he's  aye  been  accustom'd  to  snore  before, 

And  as  men  of  his  kidney  are  wont  to  snore  ;— 

(Sir  Thopas's  weight  is  sixteen  stone  four;) 

He  draws  his  breath  like  a  man  distress'd 

By  pain  or  grief,  or  like  one  oppress'd 

By  some  ugly  old  Incubus  perch'd  on  his  breast. 

A  something  seems 

To  disturb  his  dreams, 
And  thrice  on  his  ear,  distinct  and  clear, 
Falls  a  voice  as  of  somebody  whispering  near, 
lu  still  small  accents,  faint  and  few, 
"Hey  down  the  chimney-pot! — Hey  after  you  1" 

Throughout  the  Vicarage,  near  and  far, 
There  is  no  lack  of  bolt  or  of  bar ; 

There  are  plenty  of  locks 

To  closet  and  box. 
Yet  the  pantry  wicket  is  standing  ajar  I 
And  the  little  low  door,  through  which  you  must  go, 
Down  some  half-dozen  steps,  to  the  cellar  below, 
Is  also  unfastened,  though  no  one  may  know, 
By  so  much  as  a  guess,  how  it  comes  to  be  so ; 

Foi  wicket  and  door, 

The  evening  before, 
"Were  both  of  them  lock'd,  and  the  key  safely  placed 
On   the   bunch  that  hangs  down  from  the   Ilousekefpcp 
waist. 

Oh  I  'twas  a  jovial  sight  to  view 

In  that  snug  little  cellar  that  frolicsome  crew  I 


THE    WITCBES'    FROLIC.  109 

Old  Goody  Price 

Had  got  something  nice, 
A  turkey  poult  larded  with  bacon  and  spice ; — 

Old  Goody  Jones 

"Would  touch  nought  that  had  bones,— 
She  might  just  as  well  mumble  a  parcel  of  stones. 
Goody  Jones,  in  sooth,  hath  got  never  a  tooth. 
And  a  New-College  pudding  of  marrow  and  plums 
[s  the  dish  of  all  others  that  suiteth  her  gums. 

Madge  Gray  was  picking 

The  breast  of  a  chicken. 
Her  coal-black  eye,  with  its  glance  so  sly, 
Was  fixed  on  Rob  Gilpin  himself  sitting  by 
With  his  heart  full  of  lore,  and  his  mouth  full  of  pie 

Grouse  pie,  with  hare 

In  the  middle,  is  fare 
Which,  duly  concocted  with  science  and  care, 
Doctor  Kitchener  says,  is  beyond  all  compare ; 

And  a  tenderer  leveret 

Robin  had  never  ate ; 
80,  in  after  times,  oft  he  was  wont  to  asseverate. 

•*Now  pledge  we  the  wine-cup! — a  health!  a  health  1 

Sweet  are  the  pleasures  obtained  by  stealth  1 

Fill  up !  fill  up ! — the  brim  of  the  cup 

Is  the  part  that  aye  holdeth  the  tootlisomest  sup! 

Here's  to  thee,  Goody  Price  ! — Goody  Jones,  to  thee  I— 

To  thee.  Roving  Rob !  and  again  to  me ! 

Many  a  sip,  never  a  slip 

Come  to  us  four  'twixt  the  cup  and  the  lip  I" 

The  cups  pass  quick. 

The  toasts  fly  thick, 
Rob  tries  in  vain  out  their  meaning  to  pick, 
But  hears  the  words  "Scratch,"  and  "Old  Bogey,"  and  "Niok 

More  familiar  grown, 

Now  he  stands  up  alone. 
Volunteering  to  givo  them  a  toast  of  his  own. 
FIRST   SERIES.  8 


1*10  THE    T^iTCHES'    FROLIC. 

"  A  bumper  of  wine  1 

Fill  thine !     Fill  mine  1 
Here's  a  health  to  old  Noah  who  planted  the  Vine  1" 

Oh  then  what  sneezing, 

What  coughing  and  wheezing, 
Ensued  in  a  way  that  was  not  over  pleasing  1 
Goody  Price,  Goody  Jones,  and  the  pretty  Madge  Gray^ 
All  seem'd  as  their  liquor  had  gone  the  wrong  way 

But  the  best  of  the  joke  was,  the  moment  he  spoke 

Those  words  which  the  party  seem'd  almost  to  choke, 

As  by  mentioning  Noah  some  spell  had  been  broke, 

Every  soul  in  the  house  at  that  instant  awoke ! 

And,  hearing  the  din  from  barrel  and  bin, 

Drew  at  once  the  conclusion  that  thieves  had  got  in. 

Up  jump'd  the  Cook  and  caught  hold  of  her  spit: 

Up  jump'd  the  Groom  and  took  bridle  and  bit ; 

Up  jump'd  the  Gardener  and  shoulder'd  his  spade  : 

Up  jump'd  the  Scullion, — the  Footman, — the  Maid  ; 

(The  two  last,  by  the  way,  occasioned  some  scandal. 

By  appearing  together  with  only  one  candle, 

Which  gave  for  unpleasant  surmises  some  handle  ;) 

Up  jump'd  the  Swineherd, — and  up  jump'd  the  big  boy, 

A  nondescript  under  him,  acting  as  Pig-boy  ; 

Butler,  Housekeeper,  Coachman — from  bottom  to  top 

Everybody  jump'd  up  without  parley  or  stop, 

With  the  weapon  which  first  in  their  way  chanced  to  drop, 

Whip,  warming-pan,  wig-block,  mug,  musket,  and  mop. 

Last  of  all  doth  appear. 

With  some  symptoms  of  fear, 
Sir  Thopas  in  person  to  bring  up  the  rear. 
In  a  mix'd  kind  of  costume  half  Pontijicalibus, 
Half  what  scholars  denominate  Pure  Naturalibiis  ; 

Nay,  the  truth  to  express. 

As  you  '11  easily  guess, 
They  have  none  of  them  time  to  attend  much  to  dress: 


THjffi    WirCHES'    FROLIC.  1*71 

But  He,  or  She, 

As  the  case  may  be, 
He  or  She  seizes  what  He  or  She  pleases, 
Trunk-hosen  or  kirtles,  and  shirts  or  chemise"*. 
And  thus  one  and  all,  great  and  small,  short  ant''  taU^ 
Muster  at  once  in  the  Vicarage-hall, 
With  upstanding  locks,  starting  eyes,  shorten'a  breath 
Like  the  folks  in  the  Gallery  Scene  in  Macbetli, 
When  Macduff  is  announcing  their  Sovereign's  death. 
And  hark ! — what  accents  clear  and  strong, 
To  the  listening  throng  came  floating  along  1 
Tis  Robin  encoring  himself  in  a  song — 
"Very  good  song!  very  well  sung  I 
Jolly  companions  every  one  1" 

On,  on  to  the  cellar !  away  1  away  ! 

On,  on,  to  the  cellar  without  more  delay ! 

The  whole  posse  rush  onwards  in  battle  array — 

Conceive  the  dismay  of  tlie  party  so  gay. 

Old  Goody  Jones,  Goody  Price,  and  Madge  Grcj. 

When  the  door  bursting  wide,  they  descried  the  allied 

Troops,  prepared  for  the  onslaught,  roll  in  like  a  tide, 

And  the  spits,  and  the  tongs,  and  the  pokers  b<^side  1— 

**  Boot  and  saddle's  the  word  !  mount,  Cummcs,  and  rii      ' 

Alarm  was  ne'er  caused  more  strong  and  indigcLous 

By  cats  among  rats,  or  a  hawk  in  a  pigeon-house ; 

Quick  from  the  view 

^.way  they  all  flew. 
With  a  yell,  and  a  scrt^ech,  and  a  halliballoo, 
"Hey  up  the  chimney  !     Hey  after  you  1" — 
Tlie  Volscians  themselves  made  an  exit  less  speedy 
From  Corioli,  "flutter'd  like  doves"  by  Macready. 

They  are  gone, — save  one 

Robin  alone ! 
Robin,  whose  high  state  of  civilization 
Precludes  all  idea  of  aerostatiou. 


172  THE  witches'  frolic. 

And  who  now  has  no  notion 
Of  more  locomotion 
Than  suffices  to  kick,  with  much  zeal  and  devotion, 
Right  and  left  at  the  party,  who  pounced  on  their  victim, 
And  maul'd  hin:,  and  kick'd  him,  and  lick'd  him,  and  prick'd 

mm. 
As  thej  bore  him  away  scarce  aware  what  was  done, 
And  believing  it  all  but  a  part  of  the  fun, 
Hie — hiccoughing  out  the  same  strain  he'd  begun, 
•'  Jol — -jolly  companions  every  one  1" 

******  1ft 

Morning  gray 

Scarce  bursts  into  day 
Ere  at  Tappington  Hall  there's  the  deuce  to  pay ; 
The  tables  and  chairs  are  all  placed  in  array 
In  the  old  oak-parlour,  and  in  and  out 
Domestics  and  neighbours,  a  motley  rout. 
Are  walking,  and  whispering,  and  standing  aboai  • 

And  the  Squire  is  there 

In  his  large  arm-chair. 
Leaning  back  with  a  grave  magisterial  air ; 

In  the  front  of  a  seat  a 

Huge  volume,  called  Fleta, 
And  Bracton,  a  tome  of  an  old-fashion'd  look, 
And  Coke  upon  Lyttleton,  then  a  new  book ; 

And  he  moistens  his  lips 

With  occasional  sips 
From  a  luscious  sack-posset  that  smiles  in  a  tankard 
Close  by  on  a  side-table — not  that  he  drank  hard. 

But  because  at  that  day, 

I  hardly  need  say, 
The  Hong  Merchants  had  not  yet  invented  How  Quo, 
Nor  as  yet  would  you  see  Souchong  or  Bohea 
At  the  tables  of  persons  of  any  degree ; 
How  our  ancestors  managed  to  do  without  tea 
I  must  fairly  confess  is  a  mystery  to  me ; 

Yet  your  Lydgates  and  Chaucers 

Had  no  cups  and  saucers ; 


THE    WITCHES     FROLIC.  173 

Their  breakfast,  in  fact,  and  the  best  they  could  get. 
Was  a  sort  of  a  dejeuner  a  la  fourchette  ; 

Instead  of  our  slops 

They  had  cutlets  and  chops, 
And  sack-possets,  and  ale  in  stoups,  tankards,  au<l  pots : 
And  they  wound  up  the  meal  with  rumpsteaks  and  'scbalot* 

Now  the  Squire  lifts  his  hand 

With  an  air  of  command. 
And  gives  thf'.m  a  sign,  which  they  all  underetand, 
To  bring  in  the  culprit ;  and  straightway  the  carter 
And  huntsman  drag  in  that  unfortunate  martyr, 
Still  kicking  and  crying,  "Come. — what  are  you  arter?" 
The  charge  is  prepared,  and  the  evidence  clear, 
**He  was  caught  in  the  cellar  a-drinking  the  beer  I 
And  came  there,  there's  very  great  reason  to  fear, 
With  companions, — to  say  but  the  least  of  them, — queer ; 

Such  as  "Witches,  and  creatures 

With  horrible  features, 

And  horrible  grins. 

And  hook'd  noses  and  chins. 
Who'd  been  playing  the  deuce  with  his  Reverence's  binna 

The  face  of  his  worship  grows  graver  and  graver, 
As  the  parties  detail  Robin's  shameful  behaviour ; 
Mister  Buzzard,  the  clerk,  while  the  tale  is  reciting, 
Sits  down  to  reduce  the  aflFair  into  writing, 

With  all  proper  diction. 

And  due  "legal  fiction:  " 
Viz. :  "  That  he,  the  said  prisoner,  as  clearly  was  shown. 
Conspiring  with  folks  to  deponents  unknown, 
With  divers,  that  is  to  say,  two  thousand  people, 
In  two  thousand  hats,  each  hat  peak'd  like  a  steeple, 

With  force  and  with  arms, 

And  with  sorcery  and  charms, 

Upon  two  thousand  brooms 

Entered  four  thousand  rooms; 


174 


To  wit,  two  thousand  pantries,  and  two  thousand  cellara 

Put  in  bodily  fear  twenty  thousand  in-dwellers. 

And  with  sundry, — that  is  to  say,  two  thousand, — forks, 

Drew  divers, — that  is  co  say,  ten  thousand — corks. 

And,  with  malice  prepense,  down  their  two  thousand  tLiot 

ties. 
Emptied  various, — that  is  to  say,  ten  thousand — ^bottles. 
All  in  breach  of  the  peace, — moved  by  Satan's  malignity— 
And  in  spite  of  King  James,  and  his  Crown,  and  his  Dig 
nity." 

At  words  so  profound 

Rob  gazes  arounvi. 
But  no  glance  sympathetic  to  cheer  him  is  found. 

— No  glance,  did  I  say? 

Yes,  one! — Madge  Grayl^ 
She  is  there,  in  the  midst  of  the  crowd  standing  by, 
And  she  gives  him  one  glance  from  Iier  coal-black  eye^ 
One  touch  to  his  hand,  and  one  word  to  his  ear, — 
(That's  a  line  which  I've  stolen  from  Sir  Walter  I  fear,) 

While  nobody  near 

Seems  to  see  her  or  hear ; 
As  his  worship  takes  up,  and  surveys,  with  a  strict  eye, 
The  broom  now  produced  as  the  corpus  delicti^ 

Ere  his  fingers  can  clasp, 

It  is  snatch'd  from  his  grasp, 
The  end  pok'd  in  his  chest  with  a  force  makes  him  gasp. 
And,  despite  the  decorum  so  due  to  the  Quorum^ 
His  worship's  upset,  and  so  too  is  his  jorum; 
And  Madge  is  astride  on  the  broomstick  before  'em. 
"Hocus  Pocus  1  Quick,  Presto  I  and  Hey  Cockolorum  ! 
Mount,  mount  for  your  life,  Rob  ! — ^Sir  Justice,  adieu  I— 
— Hey  up  the  chimney-pot !  hey  after  you  1 " 

Through  the  mystified  group, 

With  a  halloo  and  whoop, 
Madge  on  the  pommel,  and  Robin  en  croupe^ 
The  pair  though  the  air  ride  as  if  in  a  chair. 
While  the  pany  below  stand  mouth  open  and  stare  t 


FROLIC.  175 

•*  Clean   buml^aized"  and  amazed,   and  fix'd,  all  the  room 

stick, 
"Ohl    what's    gone    with    RoLin, — and    Madge, — and    th« 

broomstick  ? " 
Ay,  "  what's  gone  "  indeed,  Ned  ? — of  what  befell 
Madge  Gray  and  the  broomstick,  I  never  heard  tell : 
But  Robin  was  found,  that  morn  on  the  ground. 
In  yon  old  grey  Ruin  again,  safe  and  sound. 
Except  that  at  first  he  complain'd  much  of  thirst, 
And  a  shocking  bad  headacli,  of  all  ills  the  worst, 
And  close  by  his  knee 
A  flask  you  might  see, 
But  an  empty  one,  smelling  of  eau  de  vie, 

Rob  from  this  hour  is  an  alter'd  man ; 

He  runs  home  to  his  lodgings  as  fast  as  he  can. 

Sticks  to  his  trade, 

Marries  Miss  Slade, 
Becomes  a  Tee-totaller — that  is  the  same 
As  Tee-totallers  now,  one  in  all  but  the  name ; 
Grows  fond  of  Small-beer,  which  is  always  a  steady  si^ 
Never  drinks  spirits  except  as  a  medicine , 

Learns  to  despise 

Coal-black  eyes. 
Minds  pretty  girls  no  more  than  so  many  Guys ; 
Has  a  family,  lives  to  be  sixty,  and  dies  1 

Now,  my  little  boy  Ned, 
Brush  off  to  your  bed. 
Tie  yovir  night-cap  on  safe,  or  a  napkin  instead. 
Or  these  terrible  nights  you'll  catch  cold  in  your  head ; 
And  remember  my  tale,  and  the  moral  it  teaches, 
Which  you'll  find  much  the  same  as  what  Solomon  preaches 
Don't  flirt  with  young  ladies !  don't  practise  soft  speeches ; 
Avoid    waltzes,   quadrilles,   pumps,    silk    hose,  and  knee 

breeches. — 
Frequent  not  grey  Ruins, — shun  riot  and  revelry, 
Hocus  Pocus,  and  Conjuring,  and  all  sorts  of  devilry;— 


176  THE  witches'  frolic. 

Don't     meddle     with     broomsticks, — they're     Beekebub' 

switches; 
Of  cellars  keep  clear, — they're  the  devil's  ov/n  ditches ; 
And  beware  of  balls,  banquettings,  brandy,  and — witches! 
Above  all  I  don't  run  after  black  eyes  I — if  you  do, — 
Depend  on't  you'll  find  what  I  say  will  come  true,— 
Old  Nick,  some  fine  morning,  will  "bey  after  you  1 " 


Strange  as  the  events  detailed  in  the  succeeding  nar- 
rative may  appear,  they  are,  1  have  not  the  slightest 
doubt,  true  to  the  letter.  Whatever  impression  tney 
may  make  upon  the  Reader,  that  produced  by  them 
on  the  narrator,  I  can  aver,  was  naither  light  nor  tran- 
Bieot. 


177 


SINGULAR   PASSAGE  IN   THE  LIFE  OF  TUB 
LATE  HENRY  HARRIS,  D.  D. 

AS   RELATED    BY   THE    REV.  JOSEPH    INGOLDSBY,  M.A.,  HIS 
FRIEND    AND    EXECUTOR. 

In  order  that  the  extraordinary  circumstance  which 
I  am  about  to  relate,  may  meet  with  the  credit  it  de- 
serves, I  think  it  necessary  to  premise,  that  my  reverend 
friend,  among  whose  papers  I  find  it  recorded,  was,  in 
his  Hfetime,  ever  esteemed  as  a  man  of  good  plain 
understanding,  strict  veracity,  and  unimpeached  morals 
— by  no  means  of  a  nervous  temperament,  or  one  likely 
to  attach  undue  weight  to  any  occurrence  out  of  the 
common  course  of  events,  merely  because  his  reflections 
might  not,  at  the  moment,  afford  him  a  ready  solution 
of  its  difficulties. 

On  the  truth  of  his  narrative,  as  far  as  he  was  per- 
sonally concerned,  no  one  who  knew  him  would  hesitate 
to  place  the  most  implicit  reliance.  His  history  is  briefly 
this  : — He  had  married  early  in  life,  and  was  a  widower 
at  the  age  of  thirty-nine,  with  an  only  daughter,  who 
had  then  arrived  at  puberty,  and  was  just  married  to  a 
near  connection  of  our  own  family.  The  sudden  death 
of  her  husband,  occasioned  by  a  fall  from  his  horse, 
only  three  days  after  her  confinement,  was  abruptly 

communicated  to  Mrs.  S by  a  thoughtless  girl,  who 

8* 


178  SINGULAR    PASSAGE    IN    THE    LIFE    OP 

saw  her  master  brought  lifeless  into  the  house,  and,  with 
all  that  inexplicable  anxiety  to  be  the  first  to  tell  bad 
news,  so  common  among  the  lower  orders,  rushed  at 
once  into  the  sick-room  with  her  intelligence.  The 
shock  was  too  severe  ;  and  though  the  young  widow 
survived  the  fatal  event  several  months,  yet  she  gradu 
ally  sunk  under  the  blow,  and  expired,  leaving  a  boy, 
not  a  twelvemonth  old,  to  the  care  of  his  maternal 
grandfather. 

My  poor  friend  was  sadly  shaken  by  this  melancholy 
catastrophe ;  time,  however,  and  a  strong  religious  feel- 
ing, succeeded  at  length  in  irioderating  the  poignancy 
of  his  grief — a  consummation  much  advanced  by  his 
infant  charge,  who  now  succeeded,  as  it  were  by  inhe- 
ritance, to  the  place  in  his  affections  left  vacant  by  his 

daughter's  decease.     Frederick  S grew  up  to  be  a 

fine  lad ;  his  person  and  features  were  decidedly  hand- 
some ;  still  there  was,  as  I  remember,  an  unpleasant 
expression  in  his  countenance,  and  an  air  of  reserve, 
attributed,  by  the  few  persons  who  called  occasionally 
at  the  vicarage,  to  the  retired  life  led  by  his  grandfather, 
and  the  little  opportunity  he  had,  in  consequence,  of 
mixing  in  the  society  of  his  equals  in  age  and  intellect. 
Brought  up  entirely  at  home,  his  progress  in  the  com- 
mon branches  of  education  was,  without  any  great  dis- 
play of  precocity,  rather  in  advance  of  the  generality  of 
boys  of  his  own  standing ;  partly  owing,  perhaps,  to  the 
turn  which  even  his  amusements  took  from  the  first. 
His  sole  associate  was  the  son  of  th  j  village  apothecary, 
a  boy  about  two  years  older  than  himself,  whose  father, 
being  really  clever  in  his  profession,  and  a  good  opera- 
tive chemist,  had  constructed  for  himself  a  small  labo- 


THE  LATE  HENRY  HARRIS,  DJ).         179 

ratory,  in  which,  as  he  was  fond  of  children,  the  two 
boys  spent  a  great  portion  of  their  leisure  time,  wit- 
nessing many  of  those  little  experiments  so  attractive 
to  youth,  and  in  time  aspiring  to  imitate  what  they 
admired. 

In  such  society,  it  is  not  surprising  that  Frederick 

S should  imbibe  a  strong  taste  for  the  sciences 

which  formed  his  principal  amusement ;  or  that,  when, 
in  process  of  time,  it  became  necessary  to  choose  his 
walk  in  life,  a  profession  so  intimately  connected  with 
his  favourite  pursuit,  as  that  of  medicine,  should  be 
eagerly  selected.  No  opposition  was  offered  by  my 
friend,  who,  knowing  that  the  greater  part  of  his  own 
income  would  expire  with  his  life,  and  that  the  remain- 
der would  prove  an  insufficient  resource  to  his  grand- 
child, was  only  anxious  that  he  should  follow  such  a 
path  as  would  secure  him  that  moderate  and  respectable 
competency  which  is,  perhaps,  more  conducive  to  real 
happiness  than  a  more  elevated  or  wealthy  station. 
Frederick  was,  accordingly,  at  the  proper  age,  matricu* 
lated  at  Oxford,  Avith  the  view  of  studying  the  higher 
branches  of  medicine,  a  few  months  after  his  friend, 

John  W ,  had  proceeded  to  Leyden,  for  the  purpose 

of  making  himself  acquainted  with  the  practice  of  sur- 
gery in  the  hospitals  and  lecture-rooms  attached  to  that 
university.  The  boyish  intimacy  of  their  younger  days 
did  not,  as  is  frequently  the  case,  yield  to  separation ; 
on  the  contrary,  a  close  correspondence  was  kept  up 
between  them.  Dr.  Harris  was  even  prevailed  upon  to 
allow  Frederick  to  take  a  trip  to  Holland  to  see  his 
firiend;  and  John  returned  the  visit  to  Frederick  at 
Oxford- 


180  SINGULAR    PASSAGE    IN   THE    LIFE    OF 

Satisfactory  as,  for  some  time,  were  the  accounts  of 

the  general  course   of  Frederick  S 's   studies,  by 

degrees  rumours  of  a  less  pleasant  nature  reached  the 
ears  of  some  of  his  friends;  to  the  vicarage,  however,  1 
have  reason  to  believe  they  never  penetrated.  The 
good  old  Doctor  was  too  well  beloved  in  his  parish  for 
any  one  voluntarily  to  give  him  pain ;  and,  after  all, 
nothing  beyond  whispers  and  surmises  had  reached 
X ,  when  the  worthy  vicar  was  surprised  on  a  sud- 
den by  a  request  from  his  grandchild,  that  he  might  be 
permitted  to  take  his  name  off  the  books  of  the  univer- 
sity, and  proceed  to  finish  his  education  in  conjunction 

with  his  friend  W at  Ley  den.     Such  a  proposal, 

made,  too,  at  a  time  when  the  period  for  his  graduating 
could  not  be  far  distant,  both  surprised  and  grieved  the 
Doctor ;  he  combated  the  design  with  more  perseverance 
than  he  had  ever  been  known  to  exert  in  opposition  to 
any  declared  wish  of  his  darling  boy  before,  but,  as 
usual,  gave  way,  when  more  strongly  pressed,  from  sheer 
inability  to  persist  in  a  refusal  which  seemed  to  give  so 
much  pain  to  Frederick,  especially  when  the  latter,  with 
more  energy  than  was  quite  becoming  their  relative 
situations,  expressed  his  positive  determination  of  not 
returning  to  Oxford,  whatever  might  be  the  result  of  his 
grandfather's  decision.  My  friend,  his  mind,  perhaps, 
a  httle  weakened  by  a  short  but  severe  nervous  attack 
which  he  had  scarcely  recovered  from,  at  length  yielded 
a  reluctant  consent,  and  Frederick  quitted  England. 

It  was  not  till  some  months  had  elapsed  after  his 
departure,  that  I  had  reason  to  suspect,  that  the  eager 
desire  of  availing  himself  of  opportunities  for  study 
abroad,  not  afforded  him  at  home,  was  not  the  «ole, 


THB    LATE    HENRY    HARRIS,    D.D. 


181 


or  even  the  principal,  reason  which  had  drawn  Frede- 
rick so  abruptly  from  his  Alma  Mater.  A  chance  visit 
to  the  university,  and  a  conversation  with  a  senior  fellow 
belonging  to  his  late  college,  convinced  me  of  this  ;  still 
I  found  it  impossible  to  extract  from  the  latter  the  pre- 
cise nature  of  his  oflence.  That  he  had  given  way  to 
most  culpable  indulgences,  I  had  before  heard  hinted  ; 
and,  when  I  recollected  how  he  had  been  at  once 
launched,  from  a  state  of  what  might  be  well  called 
seclusion,  into  a  world  where  so  many  enticements 
were  lying  in  wait  to  allure, — with  liberty,  example, 
every  thing  to  tempt  him  from  the  straight  road, — 
regret,  I  frankly  own,  was  more  the  predominant  feel- 
ing in  my  mind  than  either  surprise  or  condemnation. 
But  here  was  evidently  something  more  than  mere 
ordinary  excess — some  act  of  profligacy,  perhaps,  of  a 
deeper  stain,  which  had  induced  his  superiors,  wdjo,  at 
first,  had  been  loud  in  his  praises,  to  desire  him  to 
withdraw  himself  quietly,  but  for  ever ;  and  such  an 
intimation,  I  found,  had,  in  fact,  been  conveyed  to  him 
from  an  authority  which  it  was  impossible  to  resist. 
Seeing  that  my  informant  was  determined  not  to  be 
explicit,  I  did  not  press  for  a  disclosure,  which,  if  made, 
would,  in  all  probability,  only  have  given  me  pain,  and 
that   the    rather,   as   my   old  friend  the    Doctor    had 

recently  obtained  a  valuable  living  from  Lord  M , 

only  a  few  miles  distant  from  the  market  town  in 
which  I  resided,  where  he  now  was,  amusing  himself 
in  putting  his  grounds  into  order,  ornamenting  his 
house,  and  getting  everything  ready  against  his  grand- 
son's expected  visit  in  the  following  autumn.  October 
3ame,  and  with  it  came  Frederick  •  he  rode  over  more 


182  SINGULAR    PASSAGE    IN    THE    LIFE    OF 

than  once  to  see  me,  sometimes  accompanied  by  the 
Doctor,  between  whom  and  myself  the  recent  losa  of 
my  poor  daughter  Louisa  had  drawn  the  chords  of 
sympathy  still  closer. 

More  than  two  years  had  flown  on  in  this  way,  in 

which   Frederick    S had  as    many    times    made 

temporary  visits  to  his  native  country.  The  time  was 
fast  approaching  when  he  was  expected  to  return,  and 
finally  take  up  his  residence  in  England,  when  the 
sudden  illness  of  my  wife's  father  obliged  us  to  take  a 
journey  into  Lancashire,  my  old  friend,  who  had 
himself  a  curate,  kindly  offering  to  fix  his  quarters  at 
my  parsonage,  and  superintend  the  concerns  of  my 
parish  till  my  return. — Ahis !  when  I  saw  him  next  ho 
was  on  the  bed  of  death  ! 

My  absence  was  necessarily  prolonged  much  beyond 
what  I  had  anticipated.  A  letter,  with  a  foreign  post- 
mark, had,  as  I  afterwards  found,  been  brought  over 
from  his  own  house  to  my  venerable  substitute  in  the 
interval,  and  barely  giving  himself  time  to  transfer  the 
charge  he  had  undertaken  to  a  neighbouring  clergy- 
man, he  had  hurried  oft"  at  once  to  Leyden.  His  arrival 
there  was,  however,  too  late.  Frederick  was  dead  ! — • 
killed  in  a  duel,  occasioned,  it  was  said,  by  no  ordinary 
provocation  on  his  part,  although  the  flight  of  his 
antagonist  had  added  to  the  mystery  which  enveloped 
its  origin.  The  long  journey,  its  melancholy  termina- 
tion, and  the  complete  overthrow  of  all  my  poor  friend's 
earthly  hopes,  were  too  much  for  him.  He  appeared 
loo, — as  I  was  informed  by  the  proprietor  of  the 
house  in  which  I  found  him,  when  his  summons 
at    length     had    brought    me    to    his    bed-side, — to 


THE    LATE    HENRY    HABRI8,    D.D,  188 

jave  received  some  sudden  and  unaccountable  shocks 
which  even  the  death  of  his  grandson  was  inadequate 
to  explain.  There  was,  indeed,  a  wildness  in  his  fast- 
glazing  eye,  which  mingled  strangely  with  the  glance 
of  satisfaction  thrown  upon  me  as  he  pressed  my  hand ; 
— he  endeavoured  to  raise  himself,  and  would  have 
spoken,  but  fell  back  in  the  effort,  and  closed  his  eyes 
for  ever. — I  buried  him  there,  by  the  side  of  the  objeci, 
of  his  more  than  parental  affection, — in  a  foreign  land. 

It  is  from  the  papers  that  I  discovered  in  his  travel- 
ling-case that  I  submit  the  following  extracts,  without, 
however,  presuming  to  advance  an  opinion  on  the 
strange  circumstances  which  they  detail,  or  even  as  to 
the  connection  which  some  may  fancy  they  discover 
between  difterent  parts  of  them. 

The  first  was  evidently  written  at  my  own  house,  and 
bears  date  August  the  15th,  18 — ,  about  three  weeks 
after  my  own  departure  for  Preston.    It  begins  thus  : — 

"  Tuesday,  August  15. — Poor  girl ! — I  forget  who  it 
is  that  says,  '  the  real  ills  of  life  are  light  in  comparison 
with  fancied  evils  ;'  and  certainly  the  scene  I  have  just 
witnessed  goes  some  way  towards  establishing  the  truth 
of  the  hypothesis. — Among  the  afflictions  which  flesh 
is  heir  to,  a  diseased  imagination  is  far  fi*om  being  the 
lightest,  even  when  considered  separately,  and  without 
liking  into  the  account  those  bodily  pains  and  suffer- 
ings which, — so  close  is  the  connection  between  mind 
and  matter, — are  but  too  frequently  attendant  upon  any 
disorder  of  the  fancy.  Seldom  ha^  my  interest  been 
more  powerfully  excited  than  by  poor  Mary  Graham. 
Her  age,  her  appearance,  her  pale,  melancholy  features, 
the  very  contour  of  her  countenance,  all  conspired   to 


184  SINGULAR    PASSAGE    IN    THE    LIFE    OF 

remind  me,  but  too  forcibly,  of  one  who,  waking  oi 
sleeping,  is  never  long  absent  from  my  thoughts, — but 
enough  of  this. 

"  A  fine  morning  had  succeeded  one  of  the  most 
tempestuous  nights  I  ever  remember,  and  I  was  just 
sitting  down  to  a  substantial  breakfast,  which  the  care 
of  my  friend  Ingoldsby's  housekeeper,  kind-hearted 
Mrs.  Wilson,  had  prepared  for  me,  when  I  was  inter- 
rupted by  a  summons  to  the  sick-bed  of  a  young 
parishioner  whom  I  had  frequently  seen  in  my  walks, 
and  had  remarked  for  the  regularity  of  her  attendance 
at  Divine  worship. — Mary  Graham  is  the  elder  of  two 
daughters,  residing  with  their  mother,  the  widow  of  an 
attorney,  who,  dying  suddenly  in  the  prime  of  life,  left 
his  family  but  slenderly  provided  for.  A  strict  though 
not  parsimonious  economy  has,  however,  enabled  them 
to  live  with  an  appearance  of  respectability  and  com- 
fort ;  and  fi'om  the  personal  attractions  which  both  the 
girls  possess,  their  mother  is  evidently  not  without  hopes 
of  seeing  one,  at  least,  of  them  advantageously  settled 
In  life.  As  far  as  poor  Mary  is  concerned,  I  fear  she  is 
doomed  to  inevitable  disappointment,  as  I  am  much 
mistaken  if  consumption  has  not  laid  its  wasting  finger 
upon  her ;  while  this  last  recurrence,  of  what  I  cannot 
but  believe  to  be  a  most  formidable  epileptic  attack, 
threatens  to  shake  out,  with  even  added  velocity,  the 
little  sand  that  may  yet  remain  within  the  hour-glass 
of  time.  Her  very  delusion,  too,  is  of  such  a  nature  as, 
by  adding  to  bodily  illness  the  agitation  of  superstitious 
terror,  can  scarcely  Ml  to  accelerate  the  catastrophe^ 
which  I  think  I  see  fast  approaching. 

"Before  I  was  introduced  into  the  sick-room,  he? 


THE    LA  IE    HENRY    HARRIS,    D.D.  185 

sister,  who  had  been  watcliing  my  arrival  from  the 
window,  took  me  into  their  httle  parlour,  and,  aftei 
the  usual  civilities,  began  to  prepare  me  for  the  visit 
I  was  about  to  pay.  Her  countenance  was  marked  at 
once  with  trouble  and  alarm,  and  in  a  low  tone  of  voice, 
which  some  internal  emotion,  rather  than  the  fear  of 
disturbing  the  invalid  in  a  distant  room,  had  subdued 
almost  to  a  whisper,  informed  me  that  my  presence  was 
become  necessary,  not  more  as  a  clergyman  than  a 
magistrate ; — that  the  disorder  with  which  her  sister 
had,  during  the  night,  been  so  suddenly  and  unaccounta- 
bly seized,  was  one  of  no  common  kind,  but  attended 
with  circumstances  which,  coupled  with  the  declarations 
of  the  sutlerer,  took  it  out  of  all  ordinary  calculations, 
?.nd,  to  use  her  own  expression,  that  '  malice  was  at  the 
bottom  of  it.' 

"Naturally  supposing  that  these  insinuations  were 
intended  to  intimate  the  partaking  of  some  deleterious 
substance  on  the  part  of  the  invalid,  I  inquired  what 
reason  she  had  for  imagining,  in  the  first  place,  that 
anything  of  a  poisonous  nature  had  been  administered 
at  all ;  and,  secondly,  what  possible  incitement  an}' 
human  being  could  have  for  the  perpetration  of  so  foul 
a  deed  towards  so  innocent  and  unoffending  an  indivi- 
d'lal?  Her  answer  considerably  relieved  the  appre- 
bensions  I  had  begun  to  entertain  lest  the  poor  girl 
should,  from  some  unknown  cause,  have  herself  been 
attempting  to  rush  uncalled  into  the  presence  of  her 
Creator  ;  at  thp  same  time,  it  surprised  me  not  a  little 
by  its  apparent  want  of  rationality  and  common  sense. 
She  had  no  reason  to  believe,  she  said,  that  her  sister 
had  taken  poison,  or  that  any  attempt  upon  her  life 


186  SINGULAR    PASSAGE    IN    THE    LIFE    OF 

had  been  made,  or  was,  perhaps,  contemplated,  but 
that '  still  mali(;e  was  at  work, — the  malice  of  villains 
or  fiends,  or  of  both  combined  ;  that  no  causes  purely 
natural  would  suffice  to  account  for  the  state  in  which 
lier  sister  had  been  now  twice  placed,  or  for  the  dread- 
ful sufferings  she  had  undergone  while  in  that  state ; 
and  that  she  was  determined  the  whole  affair  should 
undergo  a  thorough  investigation.'  Seeing  that  the 
poor  girl  was  now  herself  labouring  under  a  great 
degree  of  excitement,  I  did  not  think  it  necessary  to 
enter  at  that  moment  into  a  discussion  upon  the  absur- 
dity of  her  opinion,  but  applied  myself  to  the  tranquil- 
lizing her  mind  by  assurances  of  a  proper  inquiry,  and  then 
drew  her  attention  to  the  symptoms  of  the  indisposition, 
and  the  way  in  which  it  had  first  made  its  appearance, 

"  The  violence  of  the  storm  last  night  had,  I  found, 
induced  the  whole  family  to  sit  up  far  beyond  their 
usual  hour,  till,  wearied  out  at  length,  and,  as  their 
mother  observed,  'tired  of  burning  fire  and  candle  to 
no  purpose,'  they  repaired  to  their  several  chambers. 

"  The  sisters  occupied  the  same  room  ;  Elizabeth  was 
already  at  their  humble  toilet,  and  had  commenced  the 
arrangement  of  her  hair  for  the  night,  when  her  atten- 
tion was  at  once  drawn  from  her  employment  by  a  half 
smothered  shriek  and  exclamation  from  her  sister,  who, 
in  her  delicate  state  of  health,  had  found  walking  up 
two  flights  of  stairs,  perhaps  a  little  more  quickly  than 
usual,  an  exertion,  to  recover  from  which  she  had  seated 
herself  in  -i  large  arm-chair. 

"  Turning  hastily  at  the  sound,  she  perceived  Mary 
deadly  pale,  grasping,  as  it  were  convulsively,  each  arm 
of  the  chair  which  supported  her,  and  bending  forwar<l 


THE    LATE    HENRY    HARRIS,    D.D.  187 

in  the  attitude  of  listening ;  her  lips  were  trembling  and 
bloodless,  cold  drops  ot  perspiration  stood  upon  her 
forehead,  and  in  an  instant  after,  exclaiming  in  a  pierc 
ing  tone,  '  Hark  !  they  are  calling  me  again  !  it  is — • 
it  is  the  same  voice  ; — Oh  no  !  no  ! — Oh  my  God  !  save 
me,  Betsy, — hold  me — save  me  !'  she  fell  forward  upon 
the  floor.  Elizabeth  flew  to  her  assistance,  raised  her, 
and  by  her  cries  brought  both  her  mother,  who  had 
not  yet  got  into  bed,  and  their  only  servant  girl,  to  her 
aid.  The  latter  was  despatched  at  once  for  medical 
help ;  but,  from  the  appearance  of  the  sufl"erer,  it  was 
much  to  be  feared  that  she  would  soon  be  beyond  the 
reach  of  art.  Her  agonized  parent  and  sister  succeeded 
in  bearing  her  between  them  and  placing  her  on  a  bed  ; 
a  faint  and  intermittent  pulsation  was  for  a  while  percepti- 
ble ;  but  in  a  few  moments  a  general  shudder  shook  the 
whole  body  ;  the  pulse  ceased,  the  eyes  became  fixed  and 
glassy,  the  jaw  dropped,  a  cold  clamminess  usurped  the 

place  of  the  genial  warmth  of  life.     Before  Mr.  I ■ 

arrived,  everything  announced  that  dissolution  had  taken 
place,  and  that  the  freed  spirit  had  quitted  its  mortal 
tenement. 

"The  appearance  of  the  surgeon  confirmed  their 
worst  apprehensions ;  a  vein  was  opened,  but  the  blood 

refused  to  flow,  and  Mr.  I pronounced  that  the 

vital  spark  was  indeed  extinguished. 

"  The  ])Oor  mother,  whose  attachment  to  her  children 
was  perhaps  the  more  powerful,  as  they  were  the  sole 
relatives  or  connections  she  had  in  the  world,  was  over- 
whelmed with  a  grief  amounting  almost  to  frenzy ;  it 
was  with  difficulty  that  she  was  removed  to  her  own 
room  ]^v  the  united   strength  of   her   daughter,  and 


188  SINGULAR    PASSAGE    IN    THE    LIFE    OF 

medical  adviser.  Nearly  an  hour  elapsed  during  th« 
endeavo  ir  at  calming  her  transports ;  they  had  suc- 
ceeded, however,  to  a  certain  extent,  and  Mr.  I had 

taken  his  leave,  when  Elizabeth,  re-entering  the  bed- 
chamber in  which  her  sister  lay,  in  order  to  pay  the  last 
sad  duties  to  her  corpse,  was  horror-struck  at  seeing  a 
crimson  stream  of  blood  running  down  the  side  of  the 
counterpane  to  the  floor.  Her  exclamation  brought  the 
girl  again  to  her  side,  when  it  was  perceived,  to  their 
astonishment,  that  the  sanguine  stream  proceeded  from 
the  arm  of  the  body,  which  was  now  manifesting  signs 
of  returning  life.  The  half  frantic  mother  flew  to  the 
room,  and  it  was  with  difliculty  that  they  could  prevent 
her,  in  her  agitation,  from  so  acting  as  to  extinguish  for 
ever  the  hope  which  had  begun  to  rise  in  their  bosoms. 
A  long-drawn  sigh,  amounting  almost  to  a  groan,  fol- 
lowed by  several  convulsive  gaspings,  was  the  prelude 
to  the  restoration  of  the  animal  functions  in  poor  Mary : 
a  shriek  almost  preternaturally  loud,  considering  her 
state  of  exhaustion,  succeeded  ;  but  she  did  recover,  and 
with  the  help  of  restoratives,  was  well  enough  towards 
morning  to  express  a  strong  desire  that  I  should  be  sent 
for, — a  desire  the  more  readily  complied  with,  inas- 
much as  the  strange  expressions  and  declarations  she 
had  made  since  her  restoration  to  consciousness,  had 
filled  her  sister  with  the  most  horrible  suspicions.  The 
nature  of  these  suspicions  was  such  as  would  at  any 
other  time,  perhaps,  have  raised  a  smile  upon  my 
lips  ;  but  the  distress,  and  even  agony  of  the  poor 
girl,  as  she  half  hinted  and  half  expressed  them,  weie 
such  as  entirely  to  preclude  every  sensation  at  all 
approaching  to  mirth.      Without  endeavouring,   there 


THE  LATE  HENRY  HARRIS,  D.D.         189 

fore,  to  combat  ideas,  evidently  too  strongly  impressed 
upon  her  mind  at  the  moment  to  admit  of  present  refu- 
tation, I  merely  used  a  few  encouraging  words,  ind 
requested  her  to  precede  me  to  the  sick-chamber. 

"The  invahd  was  lying  on  the  outside  of  the  bed, 
partly  dressed,  and  wearing  a  white  dimity  wrapping- 
grown  the  colour  of  which  corresponded  but  too  well 
with  the  deadly  paleness  of  her  complexion.  Her  cheek 
was  wan  and  sunken,  giving  an  extraordinary  promi- 
nence to  her  eye,  which  gleamed  with  a  lustrous 
brilliancy  not  unfrequently  characteristic  of  the  aberra- 
tion of  intellect.  I  took  her  hand;  it  was  chill  and 
clammy,  the  pulse  feeble  and  intermittent,  and  the 
general  debility  of  her  frame  was  such,  that  I  would  fain 
have  persuaded  her  to  defer  any  conversation  which,  in 
her  present  state,  she  might  not  be  equal  to  support. 
Her  positive  assurance  that,  until  she  had  disburdened 
herself  of  what  she  called  her  'dreadful  secret,'  she 
could  know  no  rest  either  of  mind  or  body,  at  length 
induced  me  to  comply  with  her  wish,  opposition  to 
which,  in  her  then  frame  of  mind,  might  perhaps  be 
attended  with  even  worse  effects  than  its  indulgence.  I 
bowed  acquiescence,  and  in  a  low  and  'faltering  voice, 
with  frequent  interruptions,  occasioned  by  her  weakness, 
she  gave  me  the  following  singular  account  of  the  sen- 
sations which,  she  averred,  had  been  experienced  by  her 
during  her  trance  : — 

"  '  This,  sir,'  she  began,  '  is  not  the  first  time  that  the 
cruelty  of  others  has,  for  what  purpose  I  am  unable  to 
conjecture,  put  me  to  a  degree  of  torture  which  I  can 
compare  to  no  suffering,  either  of  body  or  mind,  which 
I  have  ever  before  experienced.     On  a  former  occasion 


190  RINOlJI.AIt    PASHAf.R    IN   THE    LIFE    OF 

I  w.'LS  williii;^  U>  Ix-Iirv*^  i(,  11m'.  men!  ('ir<'<l,  of  a  lii(](50in 
dream,  or  what  is  viil;^arly  termed  tlie  nightmare ;  but, 
tliis  repetition,  and  tlwi  cinMunstanefis  nndur  which  I  was 
la.Ht  .summoned,  at  a  liiiH',  too,  when  i  had  not  even 
composed  myself  to  rest,  fatally  convince  uui  of  the 
reality  of  wliat  I  liave  sc(!n  and  swlh^n-d. 

"'This  is  no  iIiik'.  for  concealment  of  any  kind. — It 
is  now  more  than  a  twelvemonth  since  I  was  in  the 
habit  of  occasionally  cncount<!riiig  in  ray  walks  a  young 
man  of  j)r(q)ossessin<r  appearance,  and  gentlemanly 
deportment:  he  was  always  alone,  and  generally  read- 
ing ;  but  I  could  not  be  long  in  doubt  that  these 
rencounters,  which  bccaitui  every  week  more  frequent, 
were  not  the  effect  of  ac'cident,  or  tliat  his  attention, 
wluMi  we  <lid  meet,  was  l(!ss  directed  to  his  book  than 
to  my  sister  an<l  myself.  Uo  uvt-.n  seemed  to  wish  to 
address  us,  and  I  hav<^  no  doubt  would  have  taken  some 
other  opportunity  of  doing  so,  had  not  one  been 
affonbid  him  by  a  Htrang(5  dog  attacking  us  one  Sunday 
morning  in  our  way  to  church,  whidi  he  beat  off,  an(? 
made  use  of  this  little  service  to  promote  an  acrjuaint- 
ance.  His  name,  lie  said,  was  Francis  Somers,  and 
a<lded  that  he  was  on  a  visit  to  a  relation  of  Uio.  same 

name,  resident  a  few  miles  from  X .      Wo  gave  us  to 

understand  that  he  was  himself  studying  surgery  with 
tlie  vi«!W  to  a  medical  appointirient  in  one  of  the  colonies. 
Vou  are  not  to  suppose,  sir,  tliat  he  had  entered  thus 
into  his  (loncerjis  at  the  first  intervi<!W  ;  it  was  not  till 
our  acquaintance  ha<l  rijx'iied,  and  he  had  visited  our 
house  more  than  once  with  my  uutthcr's  sanction,  that 
these  particulars  were  elicited.  lie  never  disguised, 
from  the  first,  that  an  attachment  to  myself  w;i8  hig 


TIIK    LiTK    IlENUY    IIARinS,    D.D.  191 

object  originally  in  iiitriKlik-iii^'  liiinst'lf  to  our  notice;  as 
liis  prospocUj  were  coniparativoly  llattoriiig,  my  mother 
did  not  raise  any  impediment  to  his  attentions,  and  i 
own  I  received  them  with  pleasure. 

"'Days  and  weeks  elapsed;  and  althougli  the  dis- 
tance at  wliich  his  relation  resided,  prevented  tlie  possi- 
bility of  an  uninterrupted  intercourse,  yet  neitlier  was  it 
80  great  as  to  preclude  his  frequent  visits.  The  interval 
of  a  day,  or  at  most  of  two,  was  all  that  intervened,  and 
these  temporary  absences  certainly  did  not  decrease  the 
pleasure  of  the  meetings  with  which  tliey  terminated. 
At  lengtli  a  pensive  expression  began  to  exliibit  itself 
upon  his  countenance,  and  I  could  not  but  remark  that 
at  every  visit  he  became  m»>re  abstracted  and  reserved. 
The  eye  of  affection  is  not  slow  to  detect  any  symptom 
of  uneasiness  in  Ji  quarter  dear  to  it.  I  spoke  to  liim, 
questioned  him  on  the  subject :  his  answer  was  evasive, 
and  I  said  no  more.  My  motlier  too,  however,  had 
marked  the  same  appearance  of  melanclioly,  and  pressed 
him  more  strongly.  He  at  length  admitted  that  his 
spirits  were  depressed,  and  that  their  depression  was 
caused  by  the  necessity  of  an  early,  though  but  a 
temporary,  separation.  His  uncle,  and  only  friend,  he 
said,  had  long  insisted  on  his  sj»ending  some  months  on 
the  Continent,  with  the  view  of  completing  his  profes- 
sional education,  at  i  that  the  time  was  now  fjust 
approacliing  when  it  would  be  necessary  for  him  to 
commence  his  journey.  A  look  made  the  iiupiiry  wliich 
my  tongue  refused  to  utter.  '  Yes,  dearest  Mary,'  was 
his  reply,  *I  have  communicated  our  attachment  to 
him,  partially  at  least:  and  though  T  dare  not  say  that 
the  intimation  was  received  as  I  could  have  wished,  yet 


192  SINGULAR    PASSAGE    IN    THE    LIFE    OP 

I  have,  perhaps,  on  the  whole,  no  fair  reason  to  be  dis- 
Batisfied  with  his  reply. 

"  '  The  completion  of  my  studies,  and  my  settlement 
in  the  world,  must,  my  uncle  told  me,  be  the  first  con- 
sideration ;  when  these  material  points  were  achieved, 
he  should  not  interfere  with  any  arrangement  that 
might  be  found  essential  to  my  happiness  ;  at  the  same 
time  he  has  positively  refused  to  sanction  any  engage- 
ment at  present,  which  may,  he  says,  have  a  tendency 
to  divert  my  attention  from  those  pursuits,  on  the  due 
prosecution  of  which  my  future  situation  in  life  must 
depend.  A  compromise  between  love  and  duty  was 
eventually  wrung  from  me,  though  reluctantly  ;  I  have 
pledged  myself  to  proceed  immediately  to  my  destination 
abroad,  with  a  full  understanding  that  on  my  return,  a 
twelvemonth  hence,  no  obstacle  shall  be  thrown  in  the 
way  of  what  are,  I  trust,  our  mutual  wishes.' 

"'I  will  not  attempt  to  describe  the  feehngs  with 
which  I  received  this  communication,  nor  will  it  be  ne- 
cessary to  say  anything  of  what  passed  at  the  few  inter- 
views which  took  place  before  Francis  quitted  X , 

The  evening  immediately  previous  to  that  of  his  depar- 
ture he  passed  in  this  house,  and,  before  we  separated, 
renewed  his  protestations  of  an  unchangeable  affection, 
requiring  a  similar  assurance  from  me  in  return.  I  did 
not  hesitate  to  make  it.  '  Be  satisfied,  my  dear  Francis,' 
said  I,  *  that  no  diminution  in  the  regard  I  have  avowed 
can  ever  take  place,  and  though  absent  in  body,  my 
heart  and  soul  will  still  be  with  you.' — '  Swear  this,'  he 
cried,  with  a  suddenness  and  energy  which  surprised, 
and  rather  startled  me ;  *  promise  that  you  will  be  with 
me  in  spirit,  at  least,  when  I  am  far  away.'    I  gave  him 


THE    LATE    HENRY    HARRIS,    D.D.  193 

my  hand,  but  that  was  not  sufficient.  '  One  of  these 
dark  shining  ringlets,  my  dear  Mary,'  said  he,  '  as  a 
pledge  that  you  will  not  forget  your  vow  !'  I  suflfered 
him  to  take  the  scissors  from  my  work-box  and  to  sever 
a  lock  of  my  Lair,  which  he  placed  in  his  bosom. — The 
next  day  he  was  pursuing  his  journey,  and  the  waves 
vere  already  bearing  him  from  England. 

"  '  I  had  letters  from  him  repeatedly  during  the  first 
three  months  of  his  absence  ;  they  spoke  of  his  health, 
his  prospects,  and  of  his  love,  but  by  degrees  the  inter- 
vals between  each  arrival  became  longer,  and  I  fancied 
I  perceived  some  falling  off  from  that  warmth  of  ex- 
pression which  had  at  first  characterized  his  commu- 
nications. 

" '  One  night  I  had  retired  to  rest  rather  later  than 
usual,  having  sat  by  the  bedside,  comparing  his  last 
brief  note  with  some  of  his  earlier  letters,  and  was 
endeavouring  to  convince  myself  that  my  apprehensions 
of  his  fickleness  were  unfounded,  when  an  ulidefinable 
sensation  of  restlessness  and  anxiety  seized  upon  me.  I 
cannot  compare  it  to  anything  I  had  ever  experienced 
before  ;  my  pulse  fluttered,  ray  heart  beat  with  a  quick- 
ness and  violence  which  alarmed  me,  and  a  strange 
tremor  shook  my  whole  frame.  I  retired  hastily  to 
bed,  in  hopes  of  getting  rid  of  so  unpleasant  a  sensation, 
but  in  vain  ;  a  vague  apprehension  of  I  knew  not  what 
occupied  my  mind,  and  vainly  did  I  endeavour  to  shake 
it  ofi".  I  can  compare  my  feelings  to  nothing  but  those 
which  we  sometimes  experience  when  about  to  under- 
take a  long  and  unpleasant  journey,  leaving  those  we 
love  behind  us.  More  than  once  did  I  raise  myself  in 
ray  bed  and  listen,  fancying  that  I  heard  myself  called, 

FIRST   SERIES.  P 


194  SINGULAR    PASSAGE   IN    THE    LIFE    OV 

and  on  each  of  these  occasions  the  fluttering  of  my 
heart  increased.  Twice  I  was  on  the  point  of  calHng  to 
my  sister,  who  then  slept  in  an  adjoining  room,  but  she 
had  gone  to  bed  indisposed,  and  an  unwillingness  to  dis- 
turb either  her  or  my  mother  checked  me  ;  the  large 
clock  in  the  room  below  at  this  moment  began  to  strike 
the  hour  of  twelve.  I  distinctly  heard  its  vibrations,  but 
ere  its  sounds  had  ceased,  a  burning  heat,  as  if  a  hot 
iron  had  been  applied  to  my  temple,  was  succeeded  by  a 
dizziness, — a  swoon, — a  total  loss  of  consciousness  as  to 
where  or  in  what  situation  I  was. 

"  '  A  pain,  violent,  sharp,  and  piercing,  as  though  my 
whole  frame  were  lacerated  by  some  keen-edged  weapon, 
roused  me  from  this  stupor, — but  where  was  I  ?  Every- 
thing was  strange  around  me — a  shadowy  dimness  ren- 
dered every  object  indistinct  and  uncertain  ;  methought, 
however,  that  I  was  seated  in  a  large,  antique,  high- 
backed  chair,  several  of  which  were  near,  their  tall  black 
carved-frames  and  seats  interwoven  with  a  lattice-work 
of  cane.  The  apartment  in  which  I  sat  was  one  of 
moderate  dimensions,  and  from  its  sloping  roof,  seemed 
to  be  the  upper  story  of  the  edifice,  a  fact  confirmed  by 
the  moon  shining  without,  in  full  eff'ulgence,  on  a  huge 
round  tower,  which  its  light  rendered  plainly  visible 
through  the  open  casement,  and  the  summit  of  which 
appeared  but  little  superior  in  elevation  to  the  room  1 
occupied.  Rather  to  the  right,  and  in  the  distance,  the 
spire  of  some  cathedral  or  lofty  church  was  visible,  while 
sundry  gable-ends,  and  tops  of  houses,  told  me  I  was  in 
the  midst  of  a  populous  but  unknown  city. 

"'The  apartment  itself  had  something  strange  in  its 
appearance  •,  and,  in  the  character  of  its  furniture  and 


THE    LATE    HENRY    HARRIS,    D.D.  196 

appartenances,  bore  little  or  no  resemblance  to  any  I  had 
ever  seen  before.  The  fire-place  was  large  and  wide, 
with  a  pair  of  what  are  sometimes  called  andirons, 
betokening  that  wood  was  the  principal,  if  not  the 
only  fuel  consumed  within  its  recess  ;  a  fierce  fire  wa« 
now  blazing  in  it,  the  light  from  which  rendered  visible 
the  remotest  parts  of  the  chamber.  Over  a  lofty  old- 
fashioned  mantelpiece,  carved  heavily  in  imitation  of 
fruits  and  flowers,  hung  the  half-length  portrait  of  a 
gentleman  in  a  dark-coloured  foreign  habit,  with  a 
peaked  beard  and  mustaches,  one  hand  resting  upon  a 
table,  the  other  supporting  a  sort  of  haton^  or  short 
military  staft',  the  summit  of  which  was  surmounted  by 
a  silver  falcon.  Several  antique  chairs,  similar  in  appear- 
ance to  those  already  mentioned,  surrounded  a  massive 
oaken  table,  the  length  of  which  much  exceeded  its 
width.  At  the  lower  end  of  this  piece  of  furniture  stood 
the  chair  I  occupied ;  on  the  upper,  was  placed  a  small 
chafing  dish  filled  with  burning  coals,  and  darting  forth 
occasionally  long  flashes  of  various-coloured  fire,  the  bril- 
liance of  which  made  itself  visible,  even  above  the  strong 
illumination  emitted  from  the  chimney.  Two  huge, 
black,  japanned  cabinets,  with  clawed  feet,  reflecting 
from  their  polished  surfaces  the  eftulgence  of  the  flame, 
were  placed  one  on  each  side  the  casement-window  to 
which  I  have  alluded,  and  with  a  few  shelves  loaded 
with  books,  many  of  which  were  also  strewed  in  disorder 
on  the  floor,  completed  the  list  of  the  furniture  in 
the  apartment.  Some  strange-looking  instruments,  o^ 
unknown  form  and  purpose,  lay  on  the  table  near  the 
chafing-dish,  on  the  other  side  of  which  a  miniature  por- 
trait of  myself  hung,  reflected  by  a  small  cval  mirror  in 


196  SINGULAR   PASSAGE    IN    THE    LIFE    OF 

a  dark-coloured  frame,  while  a  large  open  volume,  traced 
with  Strang 3  characters  of  the  colour  of  blood,  lay  in 
front ;  a  goblet,  containing  a  few  drops  of  liquid  of  the 
same  ensanguined  hue,  was  by  its  side. 

"•But  of  the  objects  which  I  have  endeavoured  to 
describe,  none  arrested  my  attention  so  forcibly  as  two 
others.  These  were  the  figures  of  two  young  men,  in 
the  prime  of  life,  only  sepai-ated  from  me  by  the  table, 
They  were  dressed  alike,  each  in  a  long  flowing  gown, 
made  of  some  sad  coloured  stuff,  and  confined  at  the 
waist  by  a  crimson  girdle  ;  one  of  them,  the  shorter  of 
the  two,  was  occupied  in  feeding  the  embei's  of  the 
chafing-dish  with  a  resinous  powder,  which  produced 
and  maintained  a  brilliant  but  flickering  blaze,  to  the 
action  of  which  his  companion  was  exposing  a  long  lock 
of  dark  chestnut  hair,  that  shrank  and  shrivelled  as  it 
approached  the  flame.  But,  0  God  ! — that  hair ! — and 
the  form  of  him  who  held  it!  that  face  !  those  features  ! 
— not  for  one  instant  could  I  entertain  a  doubt — it  was 
He !  Francis  ! — the  lock  he  grasped  was  mine,  the  very 
pledge  of  affection  I  had  given  him,  and  still,  as  it  par- 
tially encountered  the  fire,  a  burning  heat  seemed  to 
scorch  the  temple  from  which  it  had  been  taken,  con- 
veying a  torturing  sensation  that  affected  my  very  brain. 

"  '  How  shall  I  proceed  ? — but  no,  it  is  impossible, — 
not  even  to  you,  sir,  can  I — dare  I — recount  the  proceed- 
ings of  that  unhallowed  night  of  horror  and  of  shame. 
Were  my  life  extended  to  a  term  commensurate  with 
that  of  the  Patriarchs  of  old,  never  could  its  detestable, 
its  damning  pollutions  be  effaced  from  my  remembrance; 
and  oh  1  above  all,  never  could  I  forget  the  diabolical 
glee  which  sparkled  ir  the  eyes  of  my  fiendish  tormen- 


THE    LATE    HENrtY    HARRIS,    D.D.  19? 

tors,  as  they  witnessed  the  worse  than  useless  struggles  of 
their  miserable  victim.  Oh  !  why  was  it  not  permitted  me 
to  take  refuge  in  unconsciousness — nay,  in  death  itself 
from  the  abominations  of  which  I  was  compelled  to  be, 
not  only  a  witness,  but  a  partaker  ?  But  it  is  enough, 
sir ;  I  will  not  further  shock  your  nature  by  dwelHng 
longer  on  a  scene,  the  full  horrors  of  which,  words,  if  J 
even  dared  employ  any,  would  be  inadequate  to  express ; 
suflBce  it  to  say,  that  after  being  subjected  to  it,  how 
long  I  knew  not,  but  certainly  for  more  than  an  hour,  a 
noise  from  below  seemed  to  alarm  my  persecutors  ;  a 
pause  ensued, — the  lights  were  extinguished, — and,  as 
the  sound  of  a  footstep  ascending  a  staircase  became 
more  distinct,  my  forehead  felt  again  the  excruciating 
sensation  of  heat,  while  the  embers,  kindling  into  a 
momentary  flame,  betrayed  another  portion  of  the  ring- 
let consuming  in  the  blaze.  Fresh  agonies  succeeded, 
not  less  severe,  and  of  a  similar  description  to  those 
which  had  seized  upon  me  at  first ;  oblivion  again  fol- 
lowed, and  on  being  at  length  restored  to  cionsciousness, 
I  found  myself  as  you  see  me  now,  faint  and  exhausted, 
weakened  in  every  limb,  and  every  fibre  quivering  with 
agitation. — My  groans  soon  brought  my  sister  to  my 
aid;  it  was  long  before  I  could  summon  resolution  to 
confide,  even  to  her,  the  dreadful  secret,  and  when  I  had 
done  so,  her  strongest  eflbrts  were  not  wanting  to  per- 
suade me  that  I  had  been  labouring  under  a  severe  attack 
of  nightmare.  I  ceased  to  argue,  but  I  was  not  con- 
vinced :  the  whole  scene  was  then  too  present,  too 
awfully  real,  to  permit  me  to  doubt  the  character  of  the 
transaction ;  and  if,  when  a  few  days  had  elapsed,  the 
hopelessness  of  imparting   to  others  the  conviction  I 


198  SINGULAR   PASSAGE    IN   THE    LIFE    OF 

entertained  myself,  produced  in  me  an  apparent  acquie* 
cence  with  their  opinion,  I  have  never  been  the  less 
satisfied  that  no  cause  reducible  to  the  known  laws  of 
nature  occasioned  my  sufterings  on  that  hellish  evening. 
Whether  that  firm  belief  might  have  eventually  yielded 
to  time, — whether  I  might  at  length  have  been  brought 
to  consider  all  that  had  passed,  and  the  circumstances 
which  I  could  never  cease  to  remember,  as  a  mere  phan- 
tasm, the  offspring  of  a  heated  imagination  acting  upon 
an  enfeebled  body,  I  know  not — last  night,  however, 
would  in  any  case  have  dispelled  the  flattering  illusion 
■ — last  night — last  night  was  the  whole  horrible  scene 
acted  over  again.  The  place — the  actors — the  whole 
infernal  apparatus  were  the  same  ; — the  same  insults,  the 
Bame  torments,  the  same  brutalities — all  were  renewed, 
save  that  the  period  of  my  agony  was  not  so  prolonged. 
I  became  sensible  to  an  incision  in  ray  arm,  though  the 
hand  that  made  it  was  not  visible  ;  at  the  same  moment 
my  persecutors  paused;  they  were  manifestly  discon- 
certed, and  the  companion  of  him,  whose  name  shall 
never  more  pass  my  lips,  muttered  something  to  his 
abettor  in  evident  agitation ;  the  formula  of  an  oath  of 
horrible  import  was  dictated  to  me  in  terms  fearfully 
distinct.  I  refused  it  unhesitatingly  ;  again  and  again 
was  it  proposed,  with  menaces  I  tremble  to  think  on — 
but  I  refused  ;  the  same  sound  was  heard — interruption 
was  evidently  apprehended, — the  same  ceremony  was 
hastily  repeated,  and  I  again  found  myself  released,  lying 
on  my  own  bed,  with  my  mother  and  my  sister  weep- 
ing over  me. — 0  God !  O  God  !  when  and  how  is  this 
to  end  ? — "When  will  my  spirit  be  left  in  peace  ?— 
Where,  or  wi^^^h  whom  shall  I  find  refuge  ? ' 


THE  LATE  HENRY  HARRIS,  D.D.         199 

**  It  is  impossible  to  convey  any  adequate  idea  of 
the  emotions  with  which  this  unhappy  girl's  narrative 
affected  me.  It  must  not  be  supposed  that  her  story 
was  delivered  in  the  same  continuous  and  uninterrupted 
strain  in  which  I  have  transcribed  its  substance.  On 
the  contrary,  it  was  not  without  frequent  intervals,  of 
lonjjer  or  shorter  duration,  that  her  account  was  brouorht 
to  a  conclusion  :  indeed,  many  passages  of  her  strange 
dream  were  not  without  the  greatest  difficulty  and  re- 
luctance communicated  at  all. — My  task  was  no  easy 
one;  never,  in  the  course  of  a  long  life  spent  in  the 
active  duties  of  my  Christian  calling, — never  had  I  been 
summoned  to  such  a  conference  before  ! 

"To  the  half-avowed,  and  paUiated,  confession  of 
committed  guilt,  I  had  often  listened,  and  pointed  out 
the  only  road  to  secure  its  forgiveness.  I  had  succeeded 
in  cheering  the  spirit  of  despondency,  and  sometimes 
even  in  calming  the  ravings  of  despair  ;  but  here  I  had 
a  different  enemy  to  combat,  an  ineradicable  prejudice 
to  encounter,  evidently  backed  by  no  common  share  of 
superstition,  and  confirmed  by  the  mental  weakness  at- 
tendant upon  severe  bodily  pain.  To  argue  the  suffers 
out  of  an  opinion  so  rooted  was  a  hopeless  attempt.  I 
did,  however,  essay  it :  I  spoke  to  her  of  the  strong  and 
mysterious  connection  maintained  between  our  waking 
images  and  those  which  haunt  us  in  our  dreams,  and 
more  especially  duiing  that  morbid  oppression  com- 
monly called  nightmare.  I  was  even  enabled  to  adduce 
myself  as  a  strong,  and  living,  instance  of  the  excess  to 
which  fancy  sometimes  carries  her  freaks  on  tnese  occa- 
sions ;  while  by  an  odd  coincidence,  the  impression  made 
upon  my  own  mind,  which  I  adduced  as  an  example, 


200  SINGULAR   PASSAGE    IN   THE    LIFE    OF 

bore  no  slight  resemblance  to  her  own.  I  stated  tc 
her,  that  on  my  recovery  from  the  fit  of  epilepsy,  which 
had  attacked  me  about  two  years  since,  just  before  my 
grandson  Frederick  left  Oxford,  it  was  with  the  greatest 
difiiculty  I  could  persuade  myself  that  I  had  not  visited 
him,  during  the  interval,  in  his  rooms  at  Brazenose,  and 

even  conversed  both  with  himself  and  his  friend  W , 

seated  in  his  arm-chair,  and  gazing  through  the  window 
full  upon  the  statue  of  Cain,  as  it  stands  in  the  centre 
of  the  quadrangle.  I  told  her  of  the  pain  I  underwent 
both  at  the  commencement  and  termination  of  my 
attack, — of  the  extreme  lassitude  that  succeeded ;  but 
my  eflbrts  were  all  in  vain :  she  listened  to  me,  indeed, 
with  an  interest  almost  breathless,  especially  when  I 
informed  her  of  my  having  actually  experienced  the 
very  burning  sensation  in  the  brain  alluded  to,  no  doubt 
a  strong  attendant  symptom  of  this  peculiar  affection, 
and  a  proof  of  the  identity  of  the  complaint ;  but  I 
could  plainly  perceive  that  I  failed  entirely  in  shaking 
the  rooted  opinion  which  possessed  her,  that  her  spirit 
had,  by  some  nefarious  and  unhallowed  means,  been  ac- 
tually subtracted  for  a  time  from  its  oaithly  tenement " 
***** 
The  next  extract  which  I  shall  give  from  my  old 
friend's  memoranda  is  dated  August  24th,  more  than 
a  week  subsequent  to  his  first  visit  at  Mrs.  Graham's. 
He  appears,  from  liis  papers,  to  have  visited  the  poor 
young  woman  more  than  once  during  the  interval,  and 
to  have  afforded  her  those  spiritual  consolfitions  which 
no  one  was  more  capable  of  communicating.  Hia 
patient,  for  so  in  a  religious  sense  she  may  well  be 
termed,  had  been  sinking  under  the  agitation  she  had 


THE  LATE  HENRT  HARRIS,  D.D.         201 

exj>erienced  ;  and  the  constant  dread  she  was  under  of 
similar  sufiferings,  operated  so  strongly  on  a  frame  al- 
ready enervated,  that  life  at  length  seemed  to  hang 
oiJy  by  a  thread.     His  papers  go  on  to  say, 

"  I  have  just  seen  poor  Mary  Graham, — I  fear  for  the 
last  time.  Nature  is  evidently  quite  worn  out ;  she  is 
aware  that  she  is  dying,  and  looks  forward  to  the  ter- 
mination of  her  existence  here,  not  only  with  resigna- 
tion, but  with  joy.  It  is  clear  that  her  dream,  or  what 
she  persists  in  calling  her  '  subtraction,'  has  much  to 
do  with  this.  For  the  last  few  days  her  behaviour  has 
been  altered ;  she  has  avoided  conversing  on  the  sub- 
ject of  her  delusion,  and  seems  to  wish  that  I  should 
consider  her  as  a  convert  to  my  view  of  her  case.  This 
may,  perhaps,  be  partly  owing  to  the  flippancies  of  her 

medical  attendant  upon  the  subject,  for  Mr.  I has, 

somehow  or  other,  got  an  inkling  that  she  has  been 
much  agitated  by  a  dream,  and  thinks  to  laugh  oflf  the 
impression, — in  my  opinion  injudiciously  ;  but  though 
a  skilful,  and  a  kind-hearted,  he  is  a  young  man,  and 
of  a  disposition,  perhaps,  rather  'oo  mercurial  for  the 
chamber  of  a  nervous  invalid.  Her  manner  has  since 
been  much  more  reserved  to  both  of  us :  in  my  case, 
probably  because  she  suspects  me  of   betraying  her 

secret." 

***** 

"  August  26th. — Mary  Graham  is  yet  alive,  but 
sinking  fast ;  her  cordiality  towards  me  has  returned 
since  her  sister  confessed  yesterday  that  she  had,  herself, 

told  Mr.  I that  his  patient's  mind  '  had  been  afiect- 

ed  by  a  terrible  vision.'     I  am  evidently  restored  to  her 
confidence.-r-SLe  asked  me  this  morning,  with  much 
9* 


202  SINGULAR    PASSAGE    IN   THE    LIFE    OF 

earnestness,  *  "What  I  believed  to  be  the  state  of  departed 
spirits  during  the  interval  between  dissolution  and  the 
final  day  of  account ! — And  whether  I  thought  they 
would  be  safe,  in  another  world,  from  the  influence 
of  wicked  persons  employing  an  agency  moie  than 
human  V — Poor  child  ! — One  cannot  mistake  the  pre- 
vailing bias  of  her  mind. — Poor  child  !" 

***** 

"August  27tli. — It  is  nearly  over;  she  is  sinking 
rapidly,  but  quietly  and  without  pain.  I  have  just 
administered  to  her  the  sacred  elements  of  which  her 
mother  partook.  Elizabeth  declined  doing  the  same  ; 
she  cannot,  she  says,  yet  bring  herself  to  forgive  the 
villain  who  has  destroyed  her  sister.  It  is  singular  that 
she,  a  young  woman  of  good  plain  sense  in  ordinary 
matters,  should  so  easily  adopt,  and  so  pertinaciously 
retain,  a  superstition  so  puerile  and  ridiculous.  This 
must  be  matter  of  future  conversation  between  us ;  at 
present,  with  the  form  of  the  dying  girl  before  her  eyes, 
it  were  vain  to  argue  with  her.  The  mother,  I  find, 
has  written  to  young  Somers,  stating  the  dangerous 
situation  of  his  aflianced  wife;  indignant,  as  she  justly 
is,  at  his  long  silence ;  it  is  fortunate  that  she  has  no 
knowledge  of  the  suspicions  entertained  by  her  daugh- 
.^er.  I  have  seen  her  letter,  it  is  addressed  to  Mr.  Francis 
Somers,  in  the  Hogewoeri,  at  Leyden, — a  fellow-student 
then  of  Frederick's.  I  must  remember  to  enquire  if  he 
IB  acquainted  with  this  young  man." 

***** 

Mary  Graham,  it  appears,  died  the  same  night. 
Before  her  departure,  she  repeated  to  my  friend  the 
singular  story  she  had  before  told  him,  without  an> 


THE  LATE  HENRY  HARRIS,  D.D.         203 

material  variation  from  the  detail  she  had  formerly 
given.  To  the  las  she  persisted  in  believing  that  hei 
unworthy  lover  had  practised  upon  her  by  forbidden 
arts.  She  once  more  described  the  apartment  with 
great  minuteness,  and  even  the  person  of  Francis's 
alleged  companion,  who  was,  she  said,  about  the  middle 
height,  hard  featured,  with  a  rather  remarkable  scar 
upon  his  left  cheek,  extending  in  a  transverse  direction 
from  below  the  eye  to  the  nose.  Several  pages  of  my 
reverend  friend's  manuscript  are  filled  with  reflections 
upon  this  excr.iordinary  confession,  which,  joined  with 
its  melancholy  termination,  seems  to  have  produced  no 
common  eftect  upon  him.  He  alludes  to  more  than 
one  subsequent  discussion  with  the  surviving  sister,  and 
piques  himself  on  having  made  some  progress  in  con- 
vincing her  of  the  folly  of  her  theory  respecting  the 
origin  and  nature  of  the  illness  itself. 

His  memoranda  on  this,  and  other  subjects,  are  con- 
tinued till  about  the  middle  of  September,  when  a  break 
ensues,  occasioned,  no  doubt,  by  the  unwelcome  news 
of  his  grandson's  dangerous  state,  which  induced  him 
to  set  out  forthwith  for  Holland.    His  arrival  at  Leyden 

was,  as  I  have  already  said,  too  late.     Frederick  S 

had  expired,  after  thirty  hours'  intense  suflfering,  from  a 
wound  received  in  a  duel  with  a  brother  student.  The 
cause  of  the  quarrel  was  variously  related  ;  but,  accord- 
ing to  his  landlord's  version,  it  had  originated  in  some 
silly  dispute  about  a  dream  of  his  antagonist's,  who  had 
been  the  challenger.  Such,  at  least,  was  the  account 
given  to  him,  as  he  said,  by  Frederick's  friena  and  fel 

low-lodger,  W ,  who  had  acted  as  second  on  the 

occasion,  thus  acquitting  himself  of  an  obligation  of  the 


204  SINGULAR    PASSAGE    IN    THE    LIFE    OF 

same  kind  due  to  the  deceased,  whose  services  he  had 
put  in  requisition  about  a  year  before  on  a  similar  occa- 
sion, when  he  had  himself  been  severely  wounded  in 
the  face. 

From  the  same  authority  I  learned  that  my  pooi 
friend  was  much  affected  on  finding;  that  his  arrival  had 
been  deferred  too  long.  Every  attention  was  shown 
him  by  the  proprietor  of  the  house,  a  respectable  trades- 
man, and  a  chamber  was  ]  vepared  for  his  accommoda- 
tion ;  the  books,  and  few  effects  of  his  deceased  grand- 
son were  delivered  over  to  him,  duly  inventoried,  and, 
late  as  it  was  in  the  evening  when  he  reached  Leyden, 
he  insisted  upon  being  conducted  immediately  to  the 
apartments  which  Frederick  had  occupied,  there  to 
indulge  the  first  ebullitions  of  his  sorrow,  before  he 
retired  to  his  own.  Madame  Muller  accordingly  led  the 
way  to  an  upper  room,  which,  being  situated  at  the  top 
of  the  house,  had  been,  from  its  privacy  and  distance 
from  the  street,  selected  by  Frederick  as  his  study.  The 
Doctor  entered,  and  taking '  the  lamp  from  his  conduc- 
tress motioned  to  be  left  alone.  His  implied  wish  was 
of  course  complied  with :  and  nearly  two  hours  had 
elapsed  before  his  kind-hearted  hostess  reascended,  in 
the  hope  of  prevailing  upon  him  to  return  with  her, 
and  partake  of  that  refreshment  which  he  had  in  the 
first  instance  peremptorily  declined.  Her  application 
for  admission  was  unnoticed : — she  repeated  it  more 
than  once,  without  success ;  then,  becoming  somewhat 
alarmed  at  the  continued  silence,  opened  the  door  and 
perceived  her  new  inmate  stretched  on  the  floor  in  a 
fainting  fit.  Restoratives  were  instantly  administered, 
aud  prompt  medical  aid  succeeded  at  length  in  restoring 


THE    LATE    HENRY    HARRIS,    D.D.  20ft 

liira  to  consciousness.  But  his  mind  had  leceived  a 
shock  from  which,  during  the  few  weeks  he  survived, 
he  never  entirely  recovered.  His  thoughts  wandered 
perpetually  :  and  though,  from  the  very  slight  acquaint- 
ance which  his  hosts  had  with  the  English  language, 
ihe  greater  part  of  what  fell  from  him  remained  un- 
known, yet  enough  was  understood  to  induce  them  to 
believe  that  something  more  than  the  mere  death  of 
his  grandson  had  contributed  thus  to  paralyze  his 
faculties. 

When  his  situation  was  first  discovered,  a  small 
miniature  was  found  tightly  grasped  in  his  right  hand. 
It  had  been  the  property  of  Frederick,  and  had  mor€ 
than  once  been  seen  by  the  Miillers  in  his  possession. 
To  this  the  patient  made  continued  reference,  and  would 
not  suflfer  it  one  moment  from  his  sight :  it  was  in  his 
hand  when  he  expired.  At  my  request  it  was  produced 
to  me.  The  portrait  was  that  of  a  young  woman,  in  an 
English  morning  dress,  whose  pleasing  and  regular  fea- 
tures, with  their  mild  and  somewhat  pensive  expression, 
were  not,  I  thought,  altogether  unknown  to  me.  Her 
age  was  apparently  about  twenty.  A  profusion  of  dark 
chestnut  hair  was  aiTanged  in  the  Madonna  style,  above 
a  brow  of  unsullied  whiteness,  a  single  ringlet  depend- 
ing on  the  left  side.  A  glossy  lock  of  the  same  colour, 
and  evidently  belonging  to  the  original,  appeared  be- 
neath a  small  crystal,  inlaid  in  the  back  of  the  picture, 
which  was  plainly  set  in  gold,  and  bore  in  a  cipher  the 
letters  M.  G.  with  the  date  18 — .  From  the  inspection 
of  this  portrait,  I  could  at  that  time  collect  nothing, 
nor  from  that  of  the  Doctor  himself,  which  also  I  found 
the  next  morning  in  Frederick's  desk,  accompanied  by 


206  SINGULAR    PASSAGE    IN    THE    LIFE    OF 

,wo  separate  portions  of  hair.  One  of  them  was  a  lock, 
•hort,  and  deeply  tinged  with  grey,  and  had  been  taken, 
i  have  httle  donbt,  from  the  head  of  my  old  friend  him- 
self; the  other  corresponded  in  colour  and  appearance 
with,  that  at  the  back  of  the  miniature.  It  was  not  till 
a  few  days  had  elapsed,  and  I  had  seen  the  worthy 
Doctor's  remains  quietly  consigned  to  the  narrow  house, 
that,  while  arranging  his  papers  previous  to  my  intended 
return  upon  the  morrow,  I  encountered  the  narrative 
I  have  already  transcribed.  The  name  of  the  unfortu- 
nate young  woman  connected  with  it  forcibly  arrested 
my  attention.  I  recollected  it  immediately  as  one  be- 
longing to  a  parishioner  of  my  own,  and  at  once  recog- 
nised the  original  of  the  female  portrait  as  its  owner. 

I  rose  not  from  the  perusal  of  his  very  singular  state- 
ment till  I  had  gone  through  the  whole  of  it.  It  was 
late, — and  the  rays  of  the  single  lamp  by  which  I  was 
reading  did  but  very  faintly  illumine  the  remoter  parts 
of  the  room  in  which  I  sat.  The  brilliancy  of  an 
unclouded  November  moon,  then  some  twelve  nights 
old,  and  shining  full  into  the  apartment,  did  much 
towards  remedying  the  defect.  My  thoughts  filled  with 
the  melancholy  details  I  had  read,  I  rose  and  walked  to 
the  window.  The  beautiful  planet  rode  high  in  the  fir- 
mament, and  gave  to  the  snowy  roofs  of  the  houses, 
and  pendant  icicles,  all  the  sparkling  radiance  of  cluster- 
ing gems.  The  stillness  of  the  scene  harmonized  well 
with  the  state  of  my  feelings.  I  threw  open  the  case- 
ment and  looked  abr^^ad.  Far  below  me,  the  waters 
of  the  principal  canal  shone  like  a  broad  mirror  in  the 
moonlight.  To  the  left  rose  the  Burgh t,  a  huge  round 
tower  of  remarkable  appearance,  pierced  with  em  bra- 


THE    LATB    HENRY    HARRIS^  P.D.  207 

sures  at  its  summit;  while  a  little  to  the  right,  and  in 
the  distance,  the  spire  and  pinnacles  of  the  Cathedral 
of  Leyden  rose  in  all  their  majesty,  presenting  a  coup 
iVanl  of  surpassing  though  simple  beauty.  To  a  spec- 
tator of  calm,  unoccupied  mind,  the  scene  would  have 
been  delightful.  On  me  it  acted  with  an  electric  eftect. 
I  turned  hastily  to  survey  the  apartment  in  which  I  had 
been  sitting.    It  was  the  one  designated  as  the  study  of 

the  late  Frederick  S .     The  sides  of  the  room  wer«  , 

covered  with  dark  wainscot;  the  spacious  fireplace  oppo- 
site to  me,  with  its  polished  andi-ons,  was  surmounted 
by  a  large  old-fashioned  mantelpiece,  heavily  carved  in 
the  Dutch  style  with  fruits  and  flowers  ;  above  it  frowned 
a  portrait,  in  a  Vandyke  dress,  with  a  peaked  beard  and 
mustaches ;  one  hand  of  the  figure  rested  on  a  table, 
while  the  other  bore  a  marshal's  staff",  surmounted  by  a 
silver  falcon !  and — either  my  imagination,  already 
heated  by  the  scene,  deceived  me, — or  a  smile  as  of 
malicious  triumph  curled  the  lip  and  glared  in  the  cold 
leaden  eye  that  seemed  fixed  upon  my  own.  The  heavy, 
antique,  cane-backed  chairs, — the  large  oaken  table, — • 
the  book-shelves,  the  scattered  volumes — all,  all  were 
there ;  while,  to  complete  the  picture,  to  my  right  and 
left,  as  half-breathless  I  leaned  my  back  against  the 
casement,  rose,  on  each  side,  a  tall,  dark,  ebony  cabinet, 
in  whose  polished  sides  the  single  lamp  upon  the  table 

shone  reflected  as  in  a  mirror. 

***** 

What  am  I  to  think? — Can  it  be  that  the  story  1 
have  been  reading  was  written  by  my  poor  friend  here, 
and  under  the  influence  of  delirium  ? — Impossible  1 
Besides  they  all  assure  me,  that  from  the  fatal  night  of 


208  THE  JACKDAW  OF  RHEIMS. 

his  arrival  he  never  left  his  bed — p^ver  put  pen  to  paper 
His  very  directions  to  have  me  summoned  from  Eng- 
land were  verbally  given,  during  one  of  those  few  and 
brief   intervals   in    which   reason   seemed    partially  to 

resume  her  sway.     Can  it  then  be  possible  that ? 

W ?  where  is  he,  who  alone  may  be  able  to  throw 

light  on  this  horrible  mystery  ? — No  one  knows.  He 
absconded,  it  seems,  immediately  after  the  duel.  No 
trace  of  him  exists,  nor,  after  repeated  and  anxious  in- 
quiries, can  I  find  that  any  student  has  ever  been  known 
in  the  University  of  Leyden  by  the  name  of  Francis 
Somers. 

"  There  are  more  things  in  heaven  and  earth 
Than  ai-e  dreamt  of  in  your  philosophy." 


Father  John  Ingoldsby,  to  whose  papers  I  am  largely 
mdebted  for  the  Saintly  records  which  follow,  waa 
brought  up  by  his  father,  a  cadet  of  the  family,  in  the 
Romish  faith,  and  was  educated  at  Douai  for  the  church. 
Besides  the  manuscripts  now  at  Tappington,  he  was  the 
author  of  two  controversial  treatises  on  the  connection 
between  the  Papal  Hierarchy  and  the  Nine  of  Dia- 
monds. 

From  his  well-known  loyalty,  evinced  by  secret  ser- 
vices to  t«he  Royal  cause  during  the  Protectorate,  he  was 
excepted  by  name  out  of  the  acts  against  the  Papists, 
became  superintendent  of  the  Queen  Dowager's  chapel 
at  Somerset  House,  and  enjoyed  a  small  pension  until 
his  death,  which  took  place  in  the  third  year  of  Queen 
Anne  (1704),  at  the  mature  age  of  ninety-six.  He 
was   an    ecclesiastic  of  great  learning  and  piety,  but 


THE   JACKDAW    OF    RHEIMS.  209 

frcm  the  stiflf  and  antiquated  phraseology  which  he 
adopted,  I  have  thought  it  necessary  to  modernize  it  a 
Uttle :  this  will  account  for  certain  anachronisms  that 
have  unavoidably  crept  in ;  the  substance  of  his  nar 
ratives  has,  however,  throughout,  been  strictly  adhered 
to. 

His  hair-shirt,  almost  as  good  as  new,  is  stiU  preserved 
at  Tappington, — but  nobody  ever  wears  it. 


THE  JACKDAW  OF  RHEIMS. 


•'Tunc  miser  CJorvus  adeo  conscientiae  stimulis  compunctus  fuit,  et  exe« 
cratio  eum  lantopere  excarneficavit,  ut  exinde  tabescere  inciperet,  maciem 
contraheret,  omuem  cibum  aversaretur,  nee  ampliua  crocitaret ;  pennaa 
praeterea  ei  defluebant,  et  alia  pendulis  omnes  facetias  intermisit,  et  tain 
macer  apparuit  ut  umnes  ejus  miserescent."  •  *  • 

"Tunc  abbas  sacerdotibus  mandavit  ut  rursus  furem  absolverent;  quo 
facto,  Corvus,  omnibus  mirantibus,  propediem  convaluit,  et  pristinam  sa 
Qitatem  recuperavit." 

Dt  must.  Ord.  CisUre 

The  Jackdaw  sat  on  the  Cardinal's  chair  1 
Bishop  and  abbot,  and  prior  were  there ; 

Many  a  monk,  and  many  a  friar, 

Many  a  knight,  and  many  a  squire, 
With  a  great  many  more  of  lesser  degree, — 
In  sooth  a  goodly  company ; 
And  they  served  the  Lord  Primate  on  bended  knee 

Never,  I  ween, 

"Was  a  prouder  seen. 
Read  of  in  books,  or  dreamt  of  in  dreams, 
Than  the  Cardinal  Lord  Archbishop  of  Rheimal 


210  THE  JACKDAW  OF  RHEIMS. 

In  and  out 

Through  the  motley  rout, 
That  little  Jackdaw  kept  hopping  about; 

Here  and  there, 

Like  a  dog  in  a  fair, 

Over  comfits  and  eates, 

And  dishes  and  plates, 
Cowl  and  cope,  and  rochet  and  pall ! 
Mitre  and  crosier !  he  hopp'd  upon  all 

With  a  saucy  air. 

He  perch'd  on  the  chair 
Where,  in  state,  the  great  Lord  Cardinal  sat 
In  the  great  Lord  Cardinal's  great  red  hat ; 

And  he  peer'd  in  the  face 

Of  his  Lordship's  Grace, 
With  a  satisfied  look,  as  if  he  would  say, 
**We  Two  are  the  greatest  folks  here  to-day!  ** 

And  the  priests,  with  awe, 

As  such  freaks  they  saw. 
Said,  "The  Devil  must  be  in  that  little  Jackdaw!  I  ** 

The  feast  was  over,  the  board  was  clear'd 
The  flawns  and  the  custards  had  all  disappear'd. 
And  six  little  Singing-boys,— dear  little  souls 
In  nice  clean  faces,  and  nice  white  stoles, 

Came,  in  order  due, 

Two  by  two, 
Marching  that  grand  refectory  through  I 
A  nice  little  boy  held  a  golden  ewer, 
Emboss'd  and  fill'd  with  water,  as  pure 
As  any  that  flows  between  Rheims  and  ISTamur, 
Which  a  nice  little  boy  stood  ready  to  catch 
In  a  fine  golden  hand-basin  made  to  match. 
Two  nice  little  boys  rather  more  grown, 
Carried  lavender-water  and  eau  de  Cologne ; 
And  a  nice  little  boy  had  a  nice  cake  of  soapy 
Worthy  of  washing  the  hands  of  the  Pope, 

On*  little  boy  more 

A  napkin  bore. 


THE    JACKDAW    OF    RHEIMS.  2n 

Of  the  best  white  diaper,  fringed  with  pink, 
And  a  Cardinal's  Hat  mark'd  in  "permanent  ink." 

The  great  Lord  Cardinal  turns  at  the  sight 
Of  these  nice  little  boys  dress'd  all  in  white ; 

From  his  finger  he  draws 

His  costly  turquoise : 
And,  not  thinking  at  all  about  little  Jackdaws, 

Deposits  it  straight 

By  the  side  of  his  plate, 
While  the  nice  little  boys  on  his  Eminence  wait; 
Till,  when  nobody's  dreaming  of  any  such  thing; 
That  little  Jackdaw  hops  off  with  the  ring  1 
*  ^  «  * 

There's  a  cry  and  a  shout, 

And  a  deuce  of  a  rout, 
And  nobody  seems  to  know  what  they're  about, 
But  the  monks  have  their  pockets  all  turn'd  inside  out; 

The  friars  are  kneeling, 

An-l  hunting  and  feeling 
The  carpet,  the  floor,  and  the  walls,  and  the  ceiling. 

The  Cardinal  drew 

Off  each  plum-color'd  shoe. 
And  left  his  red  stockings  exposed  to  the  view ; 

He  peeps,  and  he  feels 

In  the  toes  and  the  heels 
They  turn  up  the  dishes, — they  turn  up  the  plates^— 
They  take  up  the  poker  and  poke  out  the  gratei^ 

— They  turn  up  the  rugs, 

They  examine  the  mugs  :^ 

But,  no  1 — no  such  thing  ;— 

They  can't  find  the  ring  1 
And  the  Abbot  declared  that,  "  when  nobody  twigg'd  it, 
Some  rascal  or  other  had  popp'd  in,  and  prigg'd  it  1  ** 

The  Cardinal  rose  with  a  dignified  look. 

He  called  for  his  candle,  his  bell,  and  his  book ! 

In  holy  anger,  and  pious  grie^ 

He  solemnly  cursed  that  rascally  thief  I 


212  THE  JACKDAW  OF  RHEIMS. 

He  cursed  him  at  boanl,  he  cursed  him  in  bed  ; 
From  the  sole  of  his  foot  to  the  crown  of  his  head* 
He  cursed  him  in  sleeping,  that  every  night 
He  should  dream  of  the  devil,  and  wake  in  a  fright* 
He  cursed  liim  in  eating,  he  cursed  him  in  drinking, 
,  He  cursed  him  in  coughing,  in  sneezing,  in  winking, 

He  cursed  him  in  sitting,  in  standing,  in  lying ; 
He  cursed  him  in  walking,  in  riding,  in  flying, 
He  cursed  him  living,  he  cursed  him  dying  1 — 
Never  was  heard  such  a  terrible  curse  1 
But  what  gave  rise 
To  no  little  sui'prise, 
Nobody  seemed  one  penny  the  worse  1 

The  day  was  gone, 

The  night  came  on. 
The  Monks  and  the  Friars  they  search'd  till  dawn ; 

When  the  Sacristan  saw, 

On  crumpled  claw. 
Come  limping  a  poor  little  lame  Jackdaw  1 

No  longer  gay. 

As  on  yesterday ; 
His  feathers  all  seem'd  to  be  turn'd  the  wrong  way , — 
His  pinions  droop' d — he  could  hardly  stand, — 
His  head  was  as  bald  as  the  palm  of  your  hand ; 

His  eye  so  dim. 

So  wasted  each  limb. 
That,  heedless  of  grammar,  they  all  cried,  "That  himI— 
That's  the  scamp  that  has  done  this  scandalous  thing 
That's  the  thief  that  has  got  my  Lord  Cardinal's  King  1  * 

The  poor  little  Jackdaw, 

When  the  monks  he  saw. 
Feebly  gave  vent  to  the  ghost  of  a  caw; 
And  turn'd  his  bald  head,  as  much  as  to  say, 
**  Pray  be  so  good  as  to  walk  this  way  1  " 

Slower  and  slower 

He  limp'd  on  before. 
Till  they  came  to  the  back  ^f  the  belfry-door. 


THE  JACKDAW  OF  RHEIMS.  213 

"Where  the  first  thing  they  saw, 

Midst  the  sticks  and  the  straw, 

Was  the  binq^  in  the  nest  of  that  little  Jackdaw ! 

Then  the  great  Lord  Cardinal  call'd  for  his  book, 

And  off  that  terrible  curse  he  took ; 

The  mute  expression 

Served  in  lieu  of  confession, 
And,  being  thus  coupled  with  full  restitution. 
The  Jackdaw  got  plenary  absolution! 

— When  those  words  were  heard. 

That  poor  little  bird 
Was  so  changed  in  a  moment,  'twas  really  absurd : 

He  grew  sleek,  and  fat ; 

In  addition  to  that, 
A  fresh  crop  of  feathers  came  thick  as  a  matl 

His  tail  waggled  more 

Even  than  before ; 
But  no  longer  it  wagg'd  with  an  impudent  air. 
No  longer  he  perch'd  on  the  Cardinal's  chair. 

He  hopp'd  now  about 

With  a  gait  devout ; 
At  Matins,  at  Vespers,  he  never  was  out ; 
And,  so  far  from  any  more  pilfering  deeds, 
He  always  seem'd  telling  the  Confessor's  beads. 
If  any  one  lied, — or  if  any  one  swore, — 
Or  slumber'd  in  pray'r-time  and  happen'd  to  snore. 

That  good  Jackdaw 

Would  give  a  great  "  Caw  1 " 
As  much  as  to  say,   "  Don't  do  so  any  more !  " 
While  many  reraark'd,  as  his  manners  they  saw, 
That  they  "  never  had  known  such  a  pious  Jackdaw  ! " 

He  long  lived  the  pride 

Of  that  country  side. 
And  at  last  in  the  odor  of  sanctity  died ; 

When,  as  words  were  too  faint 

His  merits  to  paint. 
The  Conclave  determined  to  make  him  a  Saint 


214  THE   JACKDAW    OP    RHEIMS. 

And  on  newly  made  Saints  and  Popes  as  you  know 
It's  the  custom,  at  Rome,  new  names  to  bestow, 
So  they  canonized  him  by  the  name  of  Jem  Crow  1 


215 


A  LAY   OF  ST.  DUNSTAN. 


'  tUtfls  t)ols  ct)fltie  Bunstan  teas  fiopne  In  s*  ^ere  of  out 
HortiE  ix.  f)onjtEti  U  xxv.  tl)at  tgmc  rfflnsnjje  In  tMs  lontie 
Efnjje  att)elston,    *  *  * 

'♦^i&'Dnn  It  so  tois  tljat  Sagnt  jBunstan  toa«  toerj  ol 
praofr  tban  uscU  tjc  to  toorlte  (u  flolTJsmitl)es  tocrfec  toitj)  Jfs 
otonc  Ijantifs  for  to  esc|)ctoe  gtielnes.** 

Golden  Legend, 
St.  Dunstan  stood  in  his  ivied  tower, 
Alembic,  crucible,  all  were  there ; 
Wlien  in  came  Nick  to  play  him  a  trick, 
In  guise  of  a  damsel  passing  fair. 
Every  one  knows 
How  the  story  goes : 
He  took  up  the  tongs  and  caught  hold  of  his  nose. 
But  I  beg  that  you  won't  for  a  moment  suppose 
That  I  mean  to  go  through,  in  detail,  to  you 
A  story  at  least  as  trite  as  it's  true  ; 
Nor  do  I  intend 
An  instant  to  spend 
On  the  tale,  how  he  treated  his  monarch  and  triend, 
Wlien,  bolting  away  to  a  chamber  remote, 
Inconceivably  bored  by  his  Witen-gemote, 
Edwy  left  them  all  joking. 
And  drinking,  and  smoking. 
So  iipsily  grand,  they'd  stand  nonsense  from  no  Kin^ 
But  sent  the  Archbishop 
Their  Sovereign  to  fish  up, 
With  a  hint  that  perchance  on  his  crown  he  might  feel  tap 
Unles3  he  came  back  straight  and  took  oflF  his  heel-taps. 


216  A    LAY    OF    ST.   DDNSTAN. 

You  must  not  be  plagued  with  the  same  story  twice^ 
And  perhaps  have  seen  tbi«  one,  by  W.  Dyce, 
At  the  Royal  Academy,  "Vcry  well  done, 
And  mark'd  in  the  catalogue  Four,  seven,  one. 

You  might  there  view  the  Saint,  who  in  sable  array 'd  is, 
Coercing  the  Monarch  away  from  the  Ladies ; 
His  right  hand  has  hold  of  his  Majesty's  jerkin, 
His  left  shews  the  door,  and  he  seems  to  say,  "  Sir  King, 
Your  most  faithful  Commons  won't  hear  of  your  shirking  1 
Quit  your  tea,  and  return  to  your  Barclai  and  Perkyn, 
Or,  by  Jingo,*  ere  morning,  no  longer  alive,  a 
Sad  victim  you'll  lie  to  your  love  for  Elgiva  I  " 

No  farther  to  treat 

Of  this  ungallant  feat. 
What  I  mean  to  do  now  is  succinctly  to  paint 
One  particular  fact  in  the  life  of  the  Saint, 
Which  somehow,  for  want  of  due  care,  I  presume, 
Has  escaped  the  researches  of  Rapin  and  Hume, 
In  recounting  a  miracle,  both  of  them  men,  who  a 
Great  deal  fall  short  of  Jacques  Bishop  of  Genoa, 
An  Historian  who  likes  deeds  like  these  to  record — 
See  his  Aurca  Legenda,  by  ffiil'gnhjn  ^e  ZiS^orlie. 

St.  Dunstan  stood  again  in  his  tower, 

Alembic,  crucible,  all  complete  ; 
He  had  been  standing  a  good  half  hour. 
And  now  he  utter'd  the  words  of  power. 

And  call'd  to  his  broomstick  to  bring  him  a  seat* 

The  words  of  po'wer! — and  what  be  they 

To  which  e'en  Broomsticks  bow  and  obey  ? — 

Why, — 'twere  uncommonly  hard  to  say, 

As  the  prelate  I  named  has  recorded  none  of  them, 

•  St.  Jingo,  or  Gengo  (Gengulphus),  sometimes  styled  "  The  Living 
/ingo,"  from  the  great  tenaciousness  of  vitality  exhibited  by  his  severed 
members.    See  his  Legend,  as  recorded  hereafter  in  the  present  volume. 


A    LAY    OF    ST.    DUNSTAN.  21? 

What  they  may  be, 

But  I  know  they  are  three, 
And  ABRACADABRA,  I  take  it,  is  one  of  them: 
For  Fin  told  that  most  Cabalists  use  that  identical 
Word,  written  thus,  in  what  they  call  "  a  Peutaclc." 


However  that  be, 

You  '11  doubtless  agree 
It  signifies  little  to  you  or  to  me, 
A"^  not  being  dabblers  in  Grammarye; 
Still,  it  must  be  confess'd,  for  a  Saint  to  repeat 
Such  language  aloud  is  scarcely  discreet; 
For,  as  Solomon  hints  to  folks  given  to  chatter, 
"  A  bird  of  the  air  may  carry  the  matter ;" 

And  in  sooth, 

From  my  youth 

I  remember  a  truth 
Insisted  on  much  in  my  earlier  years, 
To  wit,  "  Little  Pitchers  have  very  long  ears  I" 
Now,  just  such  a  "  Pitcher  "  as  those  I  allude  to 
Was  outside  the  door,  which  his  "  ears  "  appeared  glued  to 
FIRST    SERIES.  10 


218  A    LAY    OF    ST.    DUNblAJS. 

Peter,  the  Lay-brother,  meagre  and  thin. 

Five  feet  one  in  his  sandal  shoon, 
While  the  saint  thought  him  sleeping; 
Was  listening  and  peeping, 

And  watching  his  master  the  whole  afternoon* 

This  Peter  the  Saint  had  pick'd  out  from  his  fellowsj 
To  look  to  his  fire,  and  to  blow  with  the  bellows. 
To  put  on  the  Wall's-Ends  and  Lambtons  whenever  L« 
Chose  to  indulge  in  a  little  orfevrerie  ; 

— Of  course  you  have  read, 

That  St,  Dunstan  was  bred 
A  Goldsmith,  and  never  quite  gave  up  the  trade  1 
The  Company — richest  in  Loudon,  'tis  said — 
Acknowledge  him  still  as  their  Patron  and  Head; 

Nor  is  it  so  long 

Since  a  capital  song 
In  his  praise — now  recorded  their  archives  among — 
Delighted  the  noble  and  dignified  throng 
Of  their  guests,  who,  the  newspapers  told  the  whole  town. 
With  cheers  "pledged  the  wine-cup  to  Dunstan's  renown," 
When  Lord  Lyndhurst,  The  Duke,  and  Sir  Robert^  were  dining 
At  the  Hall  some  time  since  with  the  Prime  Warden  Twin 

ing.— 
— I  am  sadly  digressing — a  fault  which  sometimes 
One  can  hardly  avoid  in  these  gossiping  rhymes— 
A  slight  deviation's  forgiven !  but  then  this  is 
Too  long,  I  fear,  for  a  decent  parenthesis, 
So  I'll  rein  up  my  Pegasus  sharp,  and  retreat,  or 
You'll  think  Fve  forgotten  the  Lay  brother  Peter, 

Whom  the  Saint,  as  I  said. 

Kept  to  turn  down  his  bed. 

Dress  his  palfreys  and  cobs. 

And  do  other  odd  jobs, — 

As  reducing  to  writing 

Whatever  he  might,  in 
The  course  of  the  day  or  the  night,  be  inditing. 
And  cleaning  the  plate  of  his  mitre  with  whiting ; 


A   LAY    OF    ST.    DUNSTAN.  219 

Performing,  in  short,  all  those  duties  and  oflficcB 
Abbots  exact  from  Lay-brothers  and  Novices. 

It  occurs  to  me  here 

You'll  perhaps  think  it  queer 
That  St  Dunstan  should  have  such  a  personage  near. 

When  he'd  only  to  say 

Those  words, — be  what  they  may, — 
And  his  Broomstick  at  once  his  commands  would  obey,— 

That's  true  but  the  fact  is 

*Twas  rarely  his  practice 
Such  aid  to  resort  to,  or  such  means  apply. 
Unless  he'd  some  "dignified  knot"  to  untie, 
Adopting,  though  sometimes,  as  now,  he'd  reversed  it, 
Old  Horace's  maxim  "  Nee  Broomstick  ijitersit." — 
— Peter,  the  Lay-brother,  meagre  and  thin, 
Heard  all  the  Saint  was  saying  within  ; 
Peter,  the  Lay-brother,  sallow  and  si)are, 
Peep'd  through  the  key-hole,  and — what  saw  he  there  I— 
Why,  —  A  Broomstick  bringixg  a  rush-bottom'd  chaib. 

What  Shakspeare  observes  in  his  play  of  King  John, 

Is  undoubtedly  right, 

That  "  ofttimes  the  sight 
Of  means  to  do  ill  deeds  will  make  ill  deeds  done." 
Here's  Peter,  the  Lay-brother,  pale-faced  and  meagre, 
A  good  sort  of  man,  only  rather  too  eager 
To  listen  to  Avhat  other  people  are  saying, 
When  he  ought  to  be  minding  his  business  or  praying, 
Gets  into  a  scrape, — and  an  awkward  one  too, — 
As  you'll  find,  if  you've  patience  enough  to  go  through 

The  whole  of  the  story 

I'm  laying  before  ye, — 
Entirely  from  having  "  the  means  "  in  his  view 
Of  doing  a  thing  which  he  ought  not  to  do ! 

Still  rings  in  his  ear. 
Distinct  and  clear. 


220  A   LAY   OF   ST.   DUNSTAN. 

Abracadabra!  that  word  of  fear 

And  the  two  which  I  never  yet  happen'd  to  hear. 

Still  doth  he  spy, 

With  Fancy's  eye, 
The  Broomstick  at  work,  and  the  Saint  standing  by ; 
And  he  chuckles,  and  says  to  himself  with  glee, 
'*  Alia  1  that  Broomstick  shall  work  for  me  I " 

Hark! — that  swell 

O'er  flood  and  o'er  fell, 
Mountain,  and  dingle,  and  moss-covered  delU 
List ! — 'tis  the  soimd  of  the  Compline  bell, 
And  St.  Dunstan  is  quitting  liis  ivied  cell ; 

Peter,  I  wot. 

Is  off  like  a  shot, 
Or  a  little  dog  scalded  by  something  that's  hot, 
For  he  hears  his  Master  approaching  the  spot 
Where  he'd  listened  so  long,  though  he  knew  he  ouglit  not 
Peter  reniember'd  his  Master's  frown — 
He  trembled — ^he'd  not  have  been  caught  for  a  crown ; 

Howe'er  you  may  laugh. 

He  had  rather,  by  half. 
Have  run  up  to  the  top  of  the  tower  and  jump'd  down. 
***** 

The  Compline  hour  is  past  and  gone, 
Evening  service  is  over  and  done ; 

The  monks  repair 

To  their  frugal  fare, 
A  snug  little  supper  of  something  light 
And  digestible,  ere  they  retire  for  the  night. 
For  in  Saxon  times,  in  respect  to  their  cheer, 
St.  Austin's  Rule  was  by  no  means  severe, 
But  allowed,  from  the  Beverley  Roll  'twould  appear. 
Bread  and  cheese,  and  spring  onions,  and  sound  table-beer 
And  even  green  peas,  wnen  they  were  not  too  dear ; 
Not  like  the  rule  of  La  Trappe,  whose  chief  merit  is 
Said  to  consist  in  its  greater  austerities ; 
And  whose  monks,  if  I  rig-htly  remember  their  laws, 


A    LAY    OP    ST.    DUNSTAN.  22 J 

Ne'er  are  suffer'd  to  speak, 

Think  only  in  Greek, 
And  subsist,  as  the  Bears  do,  by  sucking  their  paw& 

Astonish'd  I  ara 

The  gay  Baron  Geramb, 
With  his  head  sav'ring  more  of  the  Lion  than  Lamb, 
Could  e'er  be  pursuaded  to  join  such  a  set — I 
Extend  the  remark  to  Signor  Ambrogetti.— 
For  a  monk  of  La  Trappe  is  as  thin  as  a  rat, 
While  an  Austin  Friar  was  jolly  and  fat ; 
Though,  of  course,  the  fare  to  which  I  allude. 
With  as  good  table-beer  as  ever  was  brew'd. 
Was  all  "  caviare  to  the  multitude," 
Extending  alone  to  the  clergy,  together  in 
Hall  assembled, — and  not  to  Lay-brethren. 
St  Dunstan  himself  sits  there  at  his  post, 

On  what  they  say  is 

Called  a  Dais. 
O'erlooking  the  whole  of  his  clerical  host. 
And  eating  poach'd  eggs  with  spinach  and  toast; 
Five  Lay-brothers  stand  behind  his  chair. 
But  where  is  the  sixth  ?— Where's  Peter !— Ay,  WHERE  ? 

Tib  an  evening  in  June, 

And  a  little  half  moon, 
A  brighter  no  fond  lover  ever  set  eyes  on. 

Gleaming  and  beaming, 

And  dancing  the  stream  in, 
Has  made  her  appearance  above  the  horizon ; 
Just  such  a  half  moon  as  you  see,  in  a  play, 
On  the  turban  of  Mustapha  Muley  Bey, 

Or  the  fair  Turk  who  weds  with  the  "  Noble  Lord  Bateman ;  * 
—  Fide  plate  in  George  Cruickshank's  memoirs  of  that  great 
man. 

She  shines  on  a  turret  remote  and  lone, 
A  tiuret  with  ivy  and  moss  overgrown. 
And  h'chens  that  thrive  on  the  cold  dank  stone  • 


222  A    LAY    OF    ST.    DUNSTAN. 

Such  a  tower  as  a  poet  of  no  mean  calibre 

I  once  knew  and  loved,  poor,  dear  Reginald  Heber, 

Assigns  to  oblivion* — a  den  for  a  She  bear ; 

"Within  it  are  found, 

Strew'd  above  and  around. 
On  the  hearth,  on  the  table,  the  shelves,  and  the  ground, 
All  sorts  of  instruments,  all  sorts  of  tools. 
To  name  which,  and  their  uses,  would  puzzle  the  Schools 
And  make  very  wise  people  look  very  like  fools  ; 

Pincers  and  hooks, 

And  black-letter  books, 
All  sorts  of  pokers,  and  all  sorts  of  tongs, 
And  all  sorts  of  hammers,  and  all  that  belongs 
To  Goldsmith's  work,  chemistry,  alchymy, — all. 

In  short  that  a  Sage, 

In  that  erudite  age. 
Could  require,  was  at  hand,  or  at  least  within  calL 
In  the  midst  of  the  room  lies  a  Broomstick ! — and  there 
A  lay-brother  sits  in  a  rush-bottom'd  chair  1 

Abracadabra,  that  fearful  word. 

And  the  two  which,  I  said,  I  have  never  yet  heard. 

Are  utter'd. — 'Tis  done  I 

Peter,  full  of  his  fun, 
Cries,  "  Broomstick  !  you  lubberly  son  of  a  gun  ! 
Bring  ale  1 — bring  a  flagon — a  hogshead — a  tun  I 

'Tis  the  same  thing  to  you ; 

I  have  nothing  to  do  ; 
*nd,  'fore  George,  I '11  sit  here,  and  I'll  drink  till  ali  b  blae 

No  doubt  you've  remark'd  how  uncommonly  quick 

A  Newfoundland  puppy  runs  after  a  stick, 

Brings  it  back  to  his  master,  and  gives  it  him — Well, 

So  potent  the  spell. 
The  Broomstick  perceived  it  was  vain  to  rebel, 

•  And  cold  oblivion,  midst  the  ruin  laid, 
Folds  her  dank  wing  beteath  the  ivy  shade. 

Palestiiid. 


A    LAY    OF   ST.    DUNSTAN.  223 

So  ran  off  like  that  puppy ; — some  cellar  was  near. 
For  in  less  than  ten  seconds  'twas  back  with  the  beer 
Peter  seizes  the  flagon  ;  but  ere  he  can  suck 
Its  contents,  or  enjoy  what  he  thinks  his  good  luck, 
The  Broomstick  comes  in  with  a  tub  in  a  truck ; 

Continues  to  run 

At  the  rate  it  begun. 
And,  au  pied  de  lettre,  next  brings  in  a  tunl 
A  fresh  one  succeeds,  then  a  third,  then  another. 
Discomfiting  much  the  astounded  Lay -brother ; 
"Who,  had  he  possess'd  fifty  pitchers  or  stoupa, 
They  all  had  been  too  few ;  for,  arranging  in  groups 
The  barrels,  the  Broomstick  next  started  the  hoops  ; 

The  ale  deluged  the  floor, 

But,  still,  through  the  door, 
^aid  Broomstick  kept  bolting,  and  bringing  in  more. 

E'en  Macbeth  to  Macduff 

Would  have  cried  "  Hold  I  enough  I  ** 
If  half  as  well  drench'd  with  such  "  perilous  stuff," 
And,  Peter,  who  did  not  expect  such  a  rough  visit. 
Cried  lustily,  "Stop  1— That  will  do,  Broomstick  I— /Sfw^tri^/" 

But  ah,  well-a-day  I 

The  Devil,  they  say, 
"Tis  easier  at  all  times  to  raise  than  to  lay. 

Again  and  again 

Peter  roar'd  out  in  vain 
His  Abracadabra,  and  t'  other  words  twain : — 

As  well  might  one  try 

A  pack  in  full  cry 
To  check,  and  call  off  from  their  headlong  career, 
By  bawling  out  "  Yoicks !  "  with  one's  hand  at  on^  6  etr. 
The  longer  he  roar'd  and  the  louder  and  quicker, 
Thft  faster  the  Broomstick  was  bringing  in  liquor. 

The  poor  Lay-brother  knew 
Not  on  earth  what  to  do- 
ll* caught  hoM  of  the  Broomstick  and  snajit  it  in  twrw — 


224 


A    LAY    OF    ST.    DUNSTAN. 


Worse  and  worse ! — Like  a  dart 

Each  part  made  a  start, 
And  he  found  he'd  been  adding  mor^  fuel  to  fire, 
For  both  now  came  loaded  with  Meux's  entire ; 
Combe's,  Delafield's,  Ilanbury's,  Truman's — no  stopping — 
Goding's,  Charenton's,  Whitbread's  continue  to  drop  in. 
With  Hodson's  pale  ale,  from  the  Sun  Brewhouse,  Wapping 
The  firms  differ'd  then,  but  I  can't  put  a  tax  on 
Mj  memory  to  say  what  their  names  were  in  Saxon. 

To  be  sure  the  best  beer 

Of  all  did  not  appear 
For  I've  said  'twas  in  June,  and  so  late  in  the  year 
The  "  Trinity  Audit  Ale"  is  not  come-at-able, 
— As  Tve  found  to  my  great  grief  when  dining  at  that  table 


Now  extremely  alarm'd,  Peter  scream'd  without  ceasing, 
For  a  flood  of  brown-stout  he  was  up  to  his  knees  in. 
Which,  thanks  to  the  Broomstick,  continued  increasiog  • 

He  fear'd  he'd  be  drown'd. 

And  he  yell'd  till  tlie  sound 
Of  his  voice,  wing'd  by  terror,  at  last  reach'd  the  ear 
Of  St  Dunstan  himself,  who  had  finish'd  his  beer, 
And  had  put  off  his  mitre,  dalmatic,  and  shoes, 
And  was  just  stepping  into  his  bed  for  a  snooze. 


His  Holiness  paused  when  he  heard  such  a  clatter ; 

He  could  not  conceive  what  on  earth  was  the  matter. 

Slipping  on  a  few  things,  for  the  sake  of  decorum. 

He  issued  forthwith  from  his  Sanctum  sanctorum, 

And  calling  a  few  of  the  lay-brothers  near  him, 

Who  were  not  yet  in  bed,  and  who  happen'd  to  hear  him. 

At  once  led  the  way, 

Without  farther  delay, 
To  the  tower  where  he'd  been  in  the  course  of  the  day. 
Poor  Peter  I — alas !  though  St  Dunstan  was  quick, 
There  were  two  there  before  him — Grim  Death,   and  Old 
Nick  I- 


A    LAY    OF    ST.    DUNSTAN.  22; 

When  they  opeu'd  the  door  out  the  malt-liquor  flow'd. 
Just  as  when  the  great  Vat  burst  in  Tot'n'am  Court  Road ; 
The  Lay-brothers  nearest  were  up  to  their  necks 
In  an  instant,  and  swimming  in  strong  double  X; 
"VMiile  Peter,  who,  spite  of  himself  now  had  drank  hard. 
After  floating  awhile,  like  a  toast  in  a  tankard, 

To  the  bottom  had  sunk. 

And  was  spied  by  a  monk, 
ytone-dead,  like  poor  Clarence,  half  drown'd  and  half  dnmk 

In  vain  did  St.  Dunstan  exclaim,  "  Vade  retro 
Strongbeerum  ! — discede  a  Lay-fratre  Petro  /" 

Queer  Latiu,  you'll  say, 

That  pnefix  of  "  Lay,'' 
And  Strongbeerum  I — I  own  they'd  have  call'd  me  a  block 

head  if 
At  school  I  had  ventured  to  use  such  a  Vocative 
Tis  a  barbarous  word,  and  to  me  it's  a  query 
If  you'll  find  it  in  Patrick,  Morell,  or  Moreri ; 
But,  the  fact  is,  the  Snint  was  uncommonly  flurried, 
And  apt  to  be  loose  in  his  Latin  when  hurried ; 
The  Brown-stout,  however,  obeys  to  the  letter^ 
Quite  as  well  as  if  talk'd  to,  in  Latin  much  better, 

By  a  grave  Cambridge  Johnian,  • 

Or  graver  Oxonian, 
Whose  language,  we  all  know,  is  quite  Ciceronian. 
It  retires  from  the  corpse,  which  is  left  high  and  dry , 
But,  in  vain  do  they  snuff  and  hot  towels  apply. 
And  other  means  used  by  the  faculty  try. 

When  once  a  man's  dead 

There's  no  more  to  be  said  ; 
Peter's  " Beer  with  an  e"  was  his  " Bier  with  an  il  f* 

By  way  of  a  moral,  permit  me  to  pop  in 
The  following  maxims : — Beware  of  eaves-dropping  I — 
Don't  make  use  of  language  that  isn't  well  scann'd  I — 
Don't  meddle  with  matters  you  don't  understand! — 
10* 


226  A    LAY    OF    ST.    DUNSTAN. 

Above  all,  what  I'd  wish  to  impress  on  both  sexes 

Is, — Keep  clear  of  Broomsticks,  Old  Nick,  and  three  XXXs. 

In  Goldsmith's  Hall  there's  a  handsome  glass-case, 

And  in  it  a  stone  figure,  found  i>n  the  place, 

When,  thinking  the  old  Hall  no  longer  a  pleasant  one. 

They  pull'd  it  all  down,  and  erected  the  present  one. 

If  you  look,  you'll  perceive  that  this  stone  figure  twists 

A  thing  like  a  broomstick  in  one  of  its  fists. 

It's  so  injured  by  time,  you  can't  make  out  a  feature ; 

But  it  is  not  St.  Dunstan, — so  doubtless  it's  Peter. 


Gengulphus,  or,  as  he  is  usually  styled  in  this  coun 
try,  "  Jingo,"  was  perhaps  more  in  the  mouths  of  the 
"general"  than  any  other  Saint, on  occasions  of  adjura- 
tion (see  note,  page  216).  Mr.  Simpkinson  from  Bath 
had  kindly  transmitted  me  a  portion  of  a  primitive 
ballad,  which  has  escaped  the  researches  of  Ritson  and 
Ellis,  but  is  yet  replete  with  beauties  of  no  common 
order.  I  an*  happy  to  say  that,  since  these  Legenda 
first  appeared,  I  have  recovered  the  whole  of  it. —  Vide 

infra. 

'  %  jFrankljn'js  tjogsie  Itptlr  obtr  a  st^lt, 
fluti  1)25  name  toas  litttl  Bjnso 
B  bDitf)  a  i— i  tojtl)  an  N,— 
N  IxDBtf)  a  (fit— (5  faoDt^  an  ©,— 
^\)t;a  rairir  tinx  littU  Brngcr ! 

9Cl)Tis  ^xn\i\^l$vi,  %rixs,  i^t  trctotitr  goob\   <is,lt, 
glnb  \}t  tair&  it  3aarc  soolJt  ^t^ngi 

%,  gr,  §,  N,  (5,  © ! 

^t  tcill'ts  it  3^an  goobt  ^t^nao  I 

NobDC  IS  nottc  fii^s  a  pretty  sonj? 
1  ttini^c  it  is  l^t  Inngo  ! 
3  tortfic  a  i— N,  (f5,  ©— 
I  jsb3£ar£  jt  is  ^  Bsnijo  !" 


227 


A  LAY  OF  ST.  GENGULPflUS. 


*•  Non  multo  post,  Gengulphus,  in  domo  sul  dormiens,   occisus  est  2 
^uodam  clerico  qui  cum  uxorc  sua  adulterare  solebat.     Cujus  corpus  dum,  in 
ferelo,  in  sepulturam  portaretur,  multi  iiifirmi  de  tactu  sanali  sunt." 
•  •  «  *  «  *  • 

**  Cum  hoc  illius  uxori  referretur  ab  ancilltl  sua,  scilicet  dominum  suum, 
quam  martyrem  sanctum,  miracula  facere,  irridens  ilia,  et  subsurrans,  aiV 
•  Ita  Gengulphus  miracula  facitat  ut  pulvinarium  meum  canta^,'  "  <kc.  &c. 

WoLFU  Mkmorab. 


Gengxjlphus  comes  from  the  Holy  Land, 

With  his  8cr^p,  and  his  bottle,  and  sandal  shoon ; 

Full  many  a  day  hath  he  been  away, 

Yet  his  lady  deems  him  return'd  full  soon. 

Full  many  a  day  hath  he  been  away. 
Yet  scarce  had  he  crossed  ayont  the  sea, 

Ere  a  spruce  young  spark  of  a  Learned  Clerk 
Had  called  on  his  Lady,  and  stopp'd  to  tea. 

This  spruce  young  guest,  so  trimly  drest, 
Stay'd  with  that  Lady,  her  revels  to  crown  ; 

They  laugh'd,  and  they  ate  and  tney  drank  of  the  best, 
And  they  turn'd  the  old  castle  quite  upside  down. 

They  would  walk  in  the  park,  that  spruce  young  Clerk, 
With  that  frolicksome  Lady  so  frank  and  free, 

Trying  balls  and  plays,  and  all  manner  of  ways, 
To  get  rid  of  what  French  people  call  J^nntU. 


228  A   LAY   OF 

Now  the  festive  board  with  viands  is  stored. 

Savoury  dishes  be  there,  I  ween, 
Rich  puddings  and  big,  and  a  barbecued  pig, 

And  oxtail  soup  in  a  China  tureen. 

There 's  a  flagon  of  ale  as  large  as  a  pail — 

When,  cockle  on  hat,  and  staff  in  hand, 
While  on  nought  they  are  thinking  save  eating  and  drinking 

Gengulphus  walks  in  frcm  the  Holy  Land  ! 

•*  You  must  be  pretty  deep  to  catch  weazels  asleep," 
Says  the  proverb ;  that  is  "  take  the  Fair  unawares ;  ** 

A  maid  o'er  the  bannisters  chancing  to  peep. 

Whispers,  "  Ma'am,  here  's  Gengulphus  a-coming  upstairs" 

Pig,  pudding,  and  soup,  the  electrified  group, 
With  the  flagon,  pop  under  the  sofa  in  haste, 

And  contrive  to  deposit  the  Clerk  in  the  closet, 
As  the  dish  least  of  all  to  Gengulphus's  taste. 

Then  oh !  what  rapture,  what  joy  was  exprest, 
When  "poor  dear  Gengulphus"  at  last  appear'd  1 

She  kiss'd  and  she  press'd  "  the  dear  man  "  to  her  breast, 
In  spite  of  his  great,  long,  frizzly  beard. 

Such  hugging  and  squeezing!  'twas  almost  unpleasing, 

A  smile  on  her  lip,  and  a  tear  in  her  eye  ;* 
She  was  so  very  glad,  that  she  seem'd  half  mad, 

And  did  not  know  whether  to  laugh  or  to  cry. 

Then  she  calls  up  the  maid  and  the  table-cloth's  laid. 
And  she  sends  for  a  pint  of  the  best  Brown  Stout ; 

On  the  fire,  too,  she  pops  some  nice  mutton  chops, 
And  she  mixes  a  stiff"  glass  of  "  Cold  Without.** 

Then  again  she  beg  ^n  at  the  "  poor  dear  "  man ; 

She  press'd  him  to  drink,  and  she  press  d  him  to  eat, 
>nd  she  brought  a  foot-pan,  with  hot  water  and  bran. 

To  comfort  his  "  poor  dear,"  travel-worn  feet. 

*  Evi  SaKpvat  Yf^o,<xa9a. — HoM. 


ST.    GENGULPHUS,  229 

"  Nor  night  nor  day  since  he  'd  been  away, 
Had  she  had  any  rest "  she  "  vow'd  and  declared." 

She  "never  could  eat  one  morsel  of  meat, 

For  thinking  how  *  poor  dear '  Gengulphus  fared.** 

She  "really  did  think  she  had  not  slept  a  wink 

Since  he  left  her,  although  he  'd  been  absent  so  long,** 

He  here  shook  his  head, — right  little  he  said. 

But  he  thought  she  was  "  coming  it  rather  too  strong." 

Now  his  palate  she  tickles  with  the  chops  and  the  pickl«^ 

Till,  so  great  the  effect  of  that  stiflF  gin  grog. 
His  weaken'd  body,  subdued  by  the  toddy. 

Falls  out  of  the  chair,  and  he  lies  like  a  log. 

Then  out  comes  the  Clerk  from  his  secret  lair ; 

He  lifts  up  the  legs,  and  she  lifts  up  the  head, 
4ind,  between  them,  this  most  reprehensible  pair 

Undress  poor  Gengulphus,  and  put  him  to  bed. 

Then  the  bolster  they  place  athwart  his  face, 

And  his  night-cap  into  his  mouth  they  cram ; 
And  she  pinches  his  nose  underneath  the  clothes, 

Till   the  "  poor  dear  soul "  goes  off  like  a  lamb. 
■*****♦ 
And  now  they  tried  the  deed  to  hide  ; 

For  a  little  bird  whisper'd,  "Perchance  you  may  swing. 
Here 's  a  corpse  in  the  case  with  a  sad  swell'd  face, 

And  a  Medical  Crowner  's  a  queer  sort  of  thing ! " 

So  the  Clerk  and  the  wife,  they  each  took  a  knife. 
And  the  nippers  that  nipp'd  the  loaf-sugar  for  tea; 

With  the  edges  and  points  they  sever'd  the  joints 
At  the  clavicle,  elbow,  hip,  ankle,  and  knee. 

Thus,  limb  from  limb,  they  dismember'd  him 

So  entirely,  that  e'en  when  they  came  to  his  wrists, 

With  those  great  sugar-nippers  they  nipp'd  off  his  "  flippers^* 
As  the  Clerk,  very  flippantly,  term'd  his  fists. 


230  A    LAY    OF 

Wlien  they  'd  cut  off  his  head,  entertaining  a  dread 
Lest  folks  should  remember  Gengulphus's  face, 

They  determined  to  throw  it  where  no  one  could  know  it, 
Down  the  well, — and  the  limbs  in  some  different  place. 

But  first  the  long  beard  from  the  chin  they  shear'd. 

And  managed  to  stuff  that  sanctified  hair, 
With  a  good  deal  of  pushing,  all  into  the  cushion 

That  filled  up  the  seat  of  a  large  arm-chair. 

They  contriv'd  to  pack  up  the  trunk  in  a  sack, 
Which  they  hid  in  an  osier-bed  outside  the  town. 

The  Clerk  bearing  arms,  legs,  and  all  on  his  back. 
As  that  vile  Mr.  Greenacre  served  Mrs.  Brown. 

But  to  see  now  how  strangely  things  sometimes  turn  out, 

And  that  in  a  manner  the  least  expected  1 
Who  coidd  surmise  a  man  ever  could  rise 

Who  'd  been  thus  carbonado'd,  cut  up,  and  dissected  f 

No  doubt  'twould  surprise  the  pupils  at  Guy's ; 

I  am  no  unbeliever — no  man  can  say  that  o'  me — 
But  St.  Thomas  himself  would  scarce  trust  his  own  eyes 

If  he  saw  such  a  thing  in  his  School  of  Anatomy. 

You  may  deal  as  you  please  with  Hindoos  and  Chinese, 
Or  a  Mussulman  making  his  heathen  salaam,  or 

A  Jew  or  a  Turk,  but  it 's  other  guess  work 

When  a  man  has  to  do  with  a  Pilgrim  or  Palmer. 

By  chance  the  Prince  Bishop,  a  Royal  Divine, 

Sends  his  cards  round  the  neighbourhood  next  day,  and 
urges  his 
Wish  to  receive  a  snug  party  to  dine 

Of  the  resident  clergy,  the  gentry,  and  burgesses 

At  a  quarter  past  five  they  are  all  alive^ 

At  the  palace,  for  coaches  are  fast  rolling  in ; 

And  to  every  guest  his  card  had  express'd 
**  Half  past "  as  the  hour  for  "  a  greasy  chia  * 


ST.    GENGULPHUS.  231 

Some  thirty  are  seated,  and  handsomely  treated 

Witli  the  choicest  Rhine  wines  in  his  Highnesa's  stock ; 

When  a  Count  of  the  Empire,  who  felt  himself  heated. 
Requested  some  water  to  mix  with  his  Hock. 

The  Butler,  who  saw  it,  sent  a  maid  out  to  draw  it, 
But  scarce  had  she  given  the  windlass  a  twirl. 

Ere  Gengulphus's  head,  from  the  well's  bottom,  said 
In  mild  accents,  *'  Do  help  us  out,  that's  a  good  girl  I" 

Only  fancy  her  dread  when  she  saw  a  great  head 

In  her  bucket ; — with  fright  she  was  ready  to  drop  : — 

Conceive,  if  you  can,  how  she  roar'd  and  she  ran. 
With  the  head  rolling  after  her  bawling  out  "  Stop !  * 

She  ran  and  she  roar'd,  till  she  came  to  the  board 
Wliere  the  Prince  Bishop  sat  with  his  party  around. 

When  Gengulphus's  poll,  which  continued  to  roll 
At  her  heels,  on  the  table  bounced  up  with  a  boua<l 

Never  touching  the  cates,  or  the  dishes  or  plates, 
The  decanters  or  glasses,  the  sweetmeats  or  fruits, 

The  head  smiles,  and  begs  them  to  bring  him  his  legs. 
As  a  well  spoken  gentleman  asks  for  his  boots. 

Kicking  open  the  casement,  to  each  one's  amazement, 
Straight  a  right  leg  steps  in,  all  impediment  scorns, 

And  near  the  head  stopping,  a  left  follows  hopping 
Behind, — for  the  left  leg  was  troubled  w^ith  corns. 

Next,  before  the  beholders,  two  great  brawny  shoulders, 
And  arms  on  their  bent  elbows  dance  through  the  throng, 

While  two  hands  assist,  though  nipp'd  off  at  the  wrist, 
The  said  shoulders  in  bearing  a  body  along. 

TLey  march  up  to  the  head,  not  one  syllable  said. 
For  the  thirty  guests  all  stare  in  wonder  and  doubt, 

As  the  limbs  in  their  sight  arrange  and  unite. 

Till  Gengulphus,  though  dead,  looks  as  sound  as  a  trout. 


232  A    LAY    OF 

I  will  venture  to  say,  from  that  hour  to  this  day, 
Ne'er  did  such  an  assembly  behold  such  a  scene ; 

Or  a  table  divide  fifteen  guests  of  a  side 

With  the  dead  body  placed  in  the  centre  between. 

Yes,  they  stared— well  they  might  at  so  noveM  sight : 
No  one  utter'd  a  whisper,  a  sneeze,  or  a  hem, 

But  sat  all  bolt  upright,  and  pale  with  affright ; 

And  they  gazed  at  the  dead  man,  the  dead  man  at  them. 

The  Prince  Bishop's  Jester,  on  punning  intent, 
As  he  view'd  the  whole  thirty,  in  jocular  terms 

Said,  "They  put  him  in  mind  of  a  Council  of  Trente 
Engaged  in  reviewing  the  Diet  of  Worms." 

But  what  should  they  do  ? — Oh  !  nobody  knew 

What  was  best  to  be  done,  either  stranger  or  resident; 

The  Chancellor's  self  read  his  Puffendorf  through 
In  vain,  for  his  books  could  not  furnish  a  precedent 

The  Prince  Bishop  mutter'd  a  curse,  and  a  prayer 

Which  his  double  capacity  hit  to  a  nicety ; 
His  Princely,  or  Lay,  half  induced  him  to  swear, 

His  Episcopal  moiety  said  "  Benedicite  1 " 

The  Coroner  sat  on  the  body  that  night, 

And  the  jury  agreed, — not  a  doubt  could  they  harbour,— 

"That  the  chin  of   the   corpse — the   sole   thing    brought   to 
light- 
Had  been  recently  shaved  by  a  very  bad  barber." 

Tliey  sent  out  Von  Taiinsend,  Yon  Biirnie,  Yon  Roe, 

Yon  Maine,  and  Yon  Rowantz — through  chalets  and  cbA 
teaux, 

Towns,  villages,  hamlets,  they  told  them  to  go, 

And  they  stuck  uj  placards  on  tha  walls  of  the  Stadth&ii& 


ST,   OENGULPHUS.  238 


"MURDER  II 


Whereas,  a  dead  Gentleman,  surname  unknown. 
Has  been  recently  found  at  his  Highnesa's  banquet. 
Rather  shabbily  drest  in  an  Amice,  or  gown 

In  appearance  resembling  a  second-hand  blanket ; 

"And  Whereas,  there's  great  reason  indeed  to  suspect 
That  some  ill-disposed  person,  or  persons,  with  malice 

Aforethought,  have  kill'd,  and  begun  to  dissect 
The  said  Gentleman,  not  very  far  from  the  palace ; 

'This  is  to  give  Notice! — Whoever  shall  seize, 
And  such  person,  or  persons,  to  justice  surrender. 

Shall  receive — such  Reward — as  his  Higlmess  shall  please^ 
On  conviction  of  him,  the  aforesaid  oflfender. 

**  And,  in  order  the  matter  more  clearly  to  trace 
To  the  bottom,  his  Highness,  the  Prince  Bishop,  further, 

Of  his  clemency,  offers  free  Pardon  and  Grace 
To  all  such  as  have  not  been  concern'd  in  the  murther. 

Done  this  day,  at  our  palace, — July  twenty-five, — 
By  Command, 

(Signed) 

Johann  Von  Riissell. 

Deceased  rather  in  years — had  a  squint  when  alive ; 
And  smells  slightly  of  gin — ^linen  mark'd  with  a  G." 

The  Newspapers,  too,  made  no  little  ado. 

Though  a  different  version  each  managed  to  dish  up ; 

Some  said  "the  Prince  Bishop  had  run  a  man  through,** 
Others  said  *'  an  assassin  had  kill'd  the  Prince  Bishop.** 

The  "Ghent  Hei^ald"  fell  foul  of  the  "Bruxelles  Gazette,** 
The  "Bruxelles  Gazette,"  with  much  sneering  ironical, 

Scorn'd  to  remain  in  the  "  Ghent  Herald's  "  debt. 

And  the   "  Amsterdam  Times "  quizz'd  the    "  Nuremberg 
Clironicle." 


234  A    LAY    OP 

In  one  thing,  indeed,  all  the  journals  agreed, 
Spite  of  "  politics,"  "  bias,"  or  "  party  collision  ;** 

Viz. :  to  "give,"  when  they'd  "further  accounts"  of  the  dee<I, 
"  Full  particulars  "  soon,  iu  "  a  later  Edition." 

But  now,  while  on  all  sides  they  rode  and  they  ran, 
Trying  all  sorts  of  means  to  discover  the  caitiffs^ 

Losing  patience,  the  holy  Gengulphus  began 
To  think  it  high  time  to  "  astonish  the  natives." 

First,  a  Rittmeister's  Frau,  who  was  weak  in  both  eyes. 
And  supposed  the  most  short-sighted  woman  in  Holland, 

Found  greater  relief,  to  her  joy  and  surprise, 

From  one  glimpse  of  his  "  squint"  than  from  glasses  by  Do! 
lond. 

By  the  slightest  approach  to  the  tip  of  his  Nose, 

Meagrims,  headache,  and  vapours  were  put  to  the  rout; 

And  one  single  touch  of  his  precious  Great  Toes 
Was  a  certain  specific  for  chilblains  and  gout. 

Rheumatics, — sciatica, — tic-douloureux  1 

Apply  to  his  shin-bones — not  one  of  them  lingers  ;— 

All  bilious  complaints  in  an  instant  withdrew, 
If  the  patient  was  tickled  with  one  of  his  fingers. 

Much  virtue  was  found  to  reside  in  his  thumbs, 

When  applied  to  the  chest,  they  cured  scantness  of  breathing 

Sea-sickness,  and  colic  ;  or,  rubb'd  on  the  gums, 

Were  "A  blessing  to  Mothers,"  for  infants  in  teething. 

Whoever  saluted  the  nape  of  his  neck. 

Where  the  u.ark  remain'd  visible  still  of  the  knife. 

Notwithstanding  east  winds  perspiration  might  check, 
Was  safe  from  sore-throat  for  the  rest  of  his  life. 

Thus,  while  each  acute,  and  each  chronic  complaint 
Giving  way,  proved  an  influence  clearly  divine, 

They  perceived  the  dead  Gentleman  must  be  a  Saint, 
So  they  lock'd  him  up,  body  and  bones,  in  a  shrine. 


ST.    GENGULPHU8.  23fi 

Through  country  and  town  liis  new  Saintship's  renown 
As  a  first-rate  physician  kept  daily  increasing, 

Till,  as  Alderman  Curtis  told  Alderman  Brown, 
It  seem'd  as  if  *'  Wonders  had  never  done  ceasing.^ 

Tlie  Three  Kings  of  Cologne  began,  it  was  known, 

A  sad  failing  off  in  their  offrings  to  find, 
His  feats  were  so  many — still  the  greatest  of  any, — 

In  every  sense  of  the  word  was — behind  ; 

For  the  German  Police  were  beginning  to  cease 

From  exertions  which  each  day  more  fruitless  appear'd 

When  Gengulphus  himself,  his  fame  still  to  increase, 
Unravell'd  the  whole  by  the  helj)  of — his  beard  1 

If  you  look  back  you'll  see  the  aforesaid  barbe  gris. 

When  divorced  from  the  chin  of  its  murder'd  proprietor, 

Had  been  stuff 'd  in  the  seat  of  a  kind  of  settee, 
Or  double  arm'd  chair,  to  keep  the  thing  quieter. 

It  may  seem  rather  strange,  that  it  did  not  arrange 
Itself  in  its  place  when  the  limbs  join'd  together ; 

P'rhaps  it  could  not  get  out,  for  the  cushion  was  stoul^ 
And  constructed  of  good,  strong,  maroon-colour' 1  leather 

Or,  what  is  more  likely,  Gengulphus  might  choose, 
For  Saints,  e'en  when  dead,  still  retain  their  volition. 

It  should  rest  there,  to  aid  some  particular  views, 
Produced  by  his  very  peculiar  position. 

Be  that  as  it  may,  on  the  very  first  day 

That  the  widow  Gengulphus  sat  down  on  that  settee, 
What  occurr'd  almost  frighten'd  her  senses  away. 

Beside  scaring  her  handmaidens,  Gertrude  and  Betty. 

They  were  telling  their  mistress  the  wonderful  deeds 

Of  the  new  Saint,  to  whom  all  the  Town  said  their  orisons 

And  especially  how,  as  regards  invalids, 

His  miraculous  cures  far  outrivall'd  Von  Morison'a. 


236  A    LAY    OF 

"  The  cripples,"  said  they,  "  fling  their  crutches  away, 
And  people  born  blind  now  can  easily  see  us  I" — 

But  she,  (we  presume,  a  disciple  of  Hume,) 

Shook  her  head,  and  said  angrily,  "  Credat  Judceus  /" 

"  Those  rascally  liars,  the  Monks  and  the  Friai  s, 
To  bring  grist  to  their  mill  these  devices  have  hit  on. — 

He  work  miracles ! — pooh ! — I'd  believe  it  of  you 

Just  as  soon,  you  great  Geese, — or  the  Chair  that  I  sit  on  * 

The  Chair, — at  that  word — it  seems  really  absurd. 

But  the  truth  must  be  told, — what  contortions  and  grins 

Distorted  her  face  ! — She  sprang  up  from  her  place 
Just  as  though  she'd  been  sitting  on  needles  and  pins  I 

For,  as  if  the  Saint's  beard  the  rash  challenge  had  heard 
Which  she  utter'd,  of  what  was  beneath  her  forgetful, 

Each  particular  hair  stood  on  end  in  the  chair, 
Like  a  porcupine's  quills  when  the  animal's  fretful. 

That  stout  maroon  leather,  they  pierced  altogether. 
Like  tenter-hooks  holding  when  clench'd  from  within. 

And  the  maids  cried  "  Good  gracious !  how  very  tenacious  I* 
— ^They  as  well  might  endeavour  to  pull  off  her  skin  I— 

She  shriek'd  with  the  pain,  but  all  efforts  were  vain ! 

In  vain  did  they  strain  every  sinew  and  muscle, — 
The  cushion  stuck  fast  1 — From  that  hour  to  her  last 

She  could  never  get  rid  of  that  comfortless  "  Bustlt  V* 

And  e'en  as  Macbeth,  when  devising  the  death 

Of  his  King,  heard  "the  very  stones  prate  of  hi    where 
abouts ;" 
60  this  shocking  bad  wife  heard  a  voice  all  her  life 

Crying  "  Murder  1"   resound  from  the  cushion, — 01    *4iero 
abouts. 


ST.   OENGULPnUS.  237 

With  regard  to  the  Clerk,  we  are  left  in  the  dark 
As  to  what  his  fate  was ;  but  I  cannot  imagine  be 

Got  off  scot-free,  though  unnoticed  it  be 
Both  by  Ribadaneira  and  Jacques  de  Voragine : 

For  cut-throats,  we're  sure,  can  be  never  secure, 

And  "  History's  Muse.*  still  to  prove  it  her  pen  holds, 

As  you'll  see,  if  you  look  in  a  rather  scarce  book, 

*'  Gods  Revenge  against  Murder"  by  one  Mr.  Reynolds. 


Moral, 


Now,  you  grave  married  Pilgrims,  who  wander  away, 
Like  Ulysses  of  old,*  {vide  Homer  and  Naso,) 

Don't  lengthen  your  stay  to  three  years  and  a  day  ? 

And  when  you  are  coming  home,  just  write  and  say  ao? 

And  you,  learned  Clerks,  who're  not  given  to  roam. 
Stick  close  to  your  books,  nor  lose  sight  of  decorum , 

Don't  visit  a  house  when  the  master's  from  home  I 
Shun  drinking, — and  study  the  "  Vitce  Sanctorum  T 

Above  all,  you  gay  ladies,  who  fancy  neglect 
In  your  spouses,  allow  not  your  patience  to  fail 

But  remember  Gengulphus's  wife  I — and  reflect 
On  the  moral  enforced  by  our  terrible  tale  I 

•  Qui  mores  hominum  multorum  vidit  et  urbuiu 


238 


Mr.  Barney  Maguire  has  laid  claim  to  the  next 
Saint  as  a  countrywoman ;  and  "  Why  wouldn't  he  ?  '* 
when  all  the  world  knows  the  O'Dells  were  a  fine  ould, 
ancient  family,  sated  in  Tipperary 

"Ere  the  Lord  Mayor  stole  his  coUar  of  gowld, 
And  sowld  it  away  to  a  trader ! "  * 

He  IS  manifestly  wrong;  but,  as  he  very  rationally 
observes,  "No  matter  for  that — she's  a  Saint  any 
wayl" 


•  The  "  Inglorious  Memory  "  of  this  ould  ancient  transaction  is  still,  we 
understand,  kept  up  in  Dublin  by  an  annual  proclamation  at  one  of  the 
city  gates.  The  jewel,  which  has  replaced  the  abstracted  ornament,  is  said 
to  have  beeu  preaeutcd  by  King  William,  and  worn  by  Daniel  O'Cbiinell) 


239 


THE  LAY  OF  ST.  ODILLE. 


Odoxe  .was  a  maid  of  a  dignified  race ; 
Her  father,  Count  Otto,  was  lord  of  Alsace ; 

Such  an  air,  such  a  grace, 

Such  a  form,  such  a  face, 
All  agreed,  'twere  a  fruitless  endeavour  to  trace 
In  the  Court.,  or  within  fifty  miles  of  the  place. 
Many  ladies  in  Strasburg  were  beautiful,  still 
They  were  beat  all  to  sticks  by  the  lovely  Odille. 

But  Odille  was  devout,  and,  before  she  was  nine, 
Had  "  experienced  a  call  "  she  consider'd  divine. 
To  put  on  the  veil  at  St  Ermengarde's  shrine. — 
Lords,  Dukes,  and  Electors,  and  Counts  Palatine 
Came  to  seek  her  in  marriage  from  both  sides  the  Rhi04 

But  vain  their  design. 

They  are  all  left  to  pine, 
Their  oglings  and  smiles  are  all  useless;  in  fine 
Not  oiic  of  these  gentlefolks,  try  as  they  will. 
Can  draw  ''Ask  my  papa"  from  the  cruel  Odille. 

At  length  one  of  her  suitors,  a  certain  Count  Herman, 
A  highly  respectable  man  as  a  German, 
Who  smoked  like  a  chimney,  and  drank  like  a  Merman 
Paid  his  court  to  her  father,  conceiving  his  firman 

Would  soon  make  her  bend. 

And  induce  her  to  lend 
An  ear  to  a  love-tale  in  lieu  of  a  sermon. 
He  gain'd  the  old  Count,  who  said,  "Come,  Mynheer,  fiUl— 
Here's  luck  to  yourself  and  my  daughter  Odille  I  " 


240  THE    LAY    OF   ST.    ODILLE. 

The  Lady  Odille  was  quite  nervous  with  fear 
When  a  little  bird  whispered  that  toast  in  her  ear ; 

She  murmur'd  "  Oh,  dear  1 

My  Papa  has  got  queer, 
I  am  sadly  afraid,  with  that  nasty  strong  beer  1 
He's  so  very  austere,  and  severe,  that  it's  clear 
If  he  gets  in  his  '  tantrums,'  X  can't  remain  here ; 
But  St  Ermengarde's  convent  is  luckily  near  ; 

It  were  folly  to  stay, 

Pour  prendre  conge, 
I  shall  put  on  my  bonnet,  and  e'en  run  awayl  " 
— She  unlock'd  the  back  door  and  descended  the  hill. 
On  whose  crest  stood  the  towers  of  the  sire  of  Odille. 

— When  he  found  she'd  levanted,  the  Count  of  Alsace 
At  first  turned  remarkably  red  in  the  face ; 
He  anathematized,  with  much  unction  and  grace, 
Every  soul  who  came  near,  and  consign'd  the  whole  rao« 
Of  runaway  girls  to  a  very  warm  place ; 

With  a  frightful  grimace 

He  gave  orders  for  chase ; 
His  vassals  set  off  at  a  deuce  of  a  pace, 
And  of  all  whom  they  met,  high  or  low,  Jack  or  Jill, 
Ask'd,  "Pray  have  you  seen  anything  of  Odille? " 

Xow  I  think  I've  been  told, — for  I'm  no  sporting  man, — 
That  the  "knowing-ones  "  call  this  by  far  the  best  plan^ 
"Take  the  lead  and  then  keep  it!  " — that  is  if  you  can.-» 
Odille  thought  so,  too,  as  she  set  off  and  ran, 

Put  her  best  leg  before. 

Starting  at  score. 
As  I  said  some  lines  since,  from  that  little  back  door. 
And  not  being  miss'd  until  half  after  four. 
Had  what  hunters  call  "  law  "  for  a  good  hour  and  more; 

Doing  her  best. 

Without  stopping  to  rest, 
Like  "yoimg  Loehiuvar  who  came  out  of  the  West.* 


THE    LAY    OF    ST.    ODILLE.  241 

**Tifl  done  I — 1  am  gonel — over  briar,  brook,  and  rill  I 

Tliej  '11  be  sharp  lads  who  catch  me  1"  said  young  Miss  Olili^ 

But  you  Ve  all  read  in  iEsop,  or  Phaedrus,  or  Gay, 
How  a  tortoise  and  hare  ran  together  one  day ; 

How  the  hare,  making  play, 
'•  Progress'd  z-ight  slick  away," 
As  "them  tarnation  chaps"  the  Americans  say; 
"WTiile  the  tortoise,  whose  figure  is  rather  oiitre 
For  racing,  crawl'd  straight  on,  without  let  or  stay, 
Having  no  post-horse  duty  or  turnpikes  to  pay, 

Till,  ere  noon's  ruddy  ray 

Changed  to  eve's  sober  grey, 
Though  her  form  and  obesity  caused  some  delay. 
Perseverance  and  patience  brought  up  her  lee-way, 
And  she  chased  her  fleet-footed  "  praycursor  "  until 
She  o'ertook  her  at  last; — so  it  fared  with  Odillel 

j 

j    For  although,  as  I  said,  she  ran  gaily  at  first, 
And  show'd  no  inclination  to  pause,  if  she  durst; 
She  at  length  felt  opprest  with  the  heat,  and  with  thirst, 
Its  usiial  attendant ;  nor  was  that  the  worst.. 
Her  shoes  went  down  at  heel ;  at  last  one  of  them  bursL 
Now  a  gentleman  smiles 
At  a  trot  of  ten  miles ; 
But  not  so  the  Fair ;  then  consider  the  stiles, 
And  as  then  ladies  seldom  wore  things  with  a  frill 
Round  the  ankle,  these  stiles  sadly  bother'd  Odille. 

Still,  despite  all  the  obstacles  placed  in  her  track. 

She  kept  steadily  on,  though  the  terrible  crack 

In  her  shoe  made  of  course  her  progression  more  slack, 

Till  she  reach'd  the  Swartz  Forest  (in  English  the  Black); 

I  cannot  divine 

How  the  boundary  line 
Was  pase'd  which  is  somewhere  there  form'd  by  the  Rhino*  * 

Perhaps  she'd  the  knack 

To  float  o'er  on  her  back — 
TIRST   SERIES.  11 


242  THE    LAY    OF    ST.    ODILLE. 

Or,  perhaps,  cross'd  the  old  bridge  of  boats  at  Bri?ach, 

(Wliich  Vaiiban,  some  years  after,  secured  from  attack 

By  a  oastion  of  stone  which  the  Germans  call  '*  Wacke,") 

All  I  know  is,  she  took  not  so  much  as  a  snack, 

Till,  hungry  and  worn,  feeling  wretchedly  Dl, 

On  a  mountain's  brow  sank  down  the  weary  Odille. 

1  said  on  its  "brow,"  but  I  should  have  said  "crown," 

For  'twas  quite  on  the  summit,  bleak,  barren,  and  brovvn. 

And  so  high  that  'twas  frightful  indeed  to  look  down 

Upon  Friburg,  a  place  of  some  little  renown, 

That  lay  at  its  foot;  but  imagine  the  frown 

That  contracted  her  brow,  when  full  many  a  clown 

She  perceived  coming  up  from  that  horrid  post-town. 

They  had  follow'd  her  trail, 

And  now  thought  without  fail. 
As  little  boys  say,  to  "  lay  salt  on  her  tail ;" 
"While  the  Count,  who  knew  no  other  law  but  his  will. 
Swore  that  Herman  that  evening  should  marry  Odille. 

Alas,  for  Odille !  poor  dear  I  what  could  she  do  ? 
Her  father's  retainers  now  had  her  m  view, 
As  she  found  from  their  raising  a  joyous  halloo ; 
While  the  Count,  riding  on  at  the  head  of  his  crew, 
In  their  snuff-col our'd  doublets  and  breeches  of  blue. 
Was  huzzaing  and  urging  them  on  to  pursue — 

What,  indeed,  could  she  do  ? 

She  very  well  knew 
If  they  caught  her  how  much  she  would  have  to  go  through 
But  then — she'd  so  shocking  a  hole  in  her  shoe  I 
And  to  go  further  on  was  impossible  ; — true 
She  might  jump  o'er  the  precipice ; — still  there  are  few. 
In  her  place,  who  could  manage  their  courage  to  screw 
Up  to  bidding  the  world  such  a  sudden  adieu  :— 
Alack  1  how  she  envied  the  birds  as  they  flew; 
No  Nassau  balloon,  with  its  wicker  canoe, 
Came  to  bear  her  from  him  she  loath'd  worse  than  a  Jew; 
So  she  fell  on  her  knees  in  a  terrible  stew. 


THE    LAY    OF    ST.    ODILLE.  243 

Crying  "  Holy  St  Ermengarde  1 

Oh,  from  these  vermin  guard 
Her  whose  last  hope  rests  entirely  on  you ; — 
Don't  let  papa  catch  me,  dear  Saint  1 — rather  kiJ 
At  once,  sir  le  champ,  your  devoted  Odillel" 

It's  delightful  to  see  those  who  strive  to  oppress 

Get  baulk'd  when  they  think  themselves  sure  of  success, 

Tlie  Saint  came  to  the  rescue ! — I  fairly  confess 

I  don't  Roe,  as  a  Saint,  how  she  well  could  do  less 

Than  to  get  such  a  votary  out  of  her  mess. 

Odille  had  scarce  closed  her  pathetic  address 

When  the  rock,  gaping  wide  as  the  Thames  at  Sheerness, 

Closed  again,  and  secured  her,  within  its  recess, 

In  a  natural  grotto, 

Which  puzzled  Count  Otto, 
Who  could  not  conceive  where  the  deuce  she  had  got  to. 
"Twas  her  voice  1 — but  'twas  Vox  et  proeterea  Nil  1 
Nor  could  any  one  guess  what  was  gone  with  Odille  I 

Then  burst  from  the  mountain  a  splendour  that  quite 

Eclipsed  in  its  brilliance,  the  finest  Bude  light, 

And  there  stood  St  Ermengarde,  drest  all  in  white, 

A  palm-branch  in  her  left  hand,  her  beads  in  her  right ; 

While,  wiin  faces  fresh  gilt,  and  with  wings  burnish'd  bright, 

A  great  many  little  boys'  heads  took  their  flight 

Above  and  around  to  a  very  great  height. 

And  seera'd   pretty  lively  considering  their  plight,, 

Since  every  one  saw. 

With  amazement  and  awe. 
They  could  never  sit  down,  for  they  hadn't  de  guoi — 

All  at  the  sight, 

From  the  knave  to  the  knight. 
Felt  a  very  unpleasant  sensation,  call'd  fright; 

While  the  Saint,  looking  down. 

With  a  terrible  frown, 
3aid,  "  My  Lords,  you  are  done  most  remarkably  brown !— « 
(  am  reaUy  asham'd  of  you  both  ; — my  nerves  thrill 
kt  your  8(!andalous  conduct  to  poor  dear  Odille; 


244  THE    LAY    OF    ST.    ODILLE. 

**  Come,  make  yourselves  scarce ! — it  is  useless  to  stay. 

You  will  gain  nothing  here  bj  a  longer  delay. 

'  Quick  !  Presto  1  Begone  1'  as  the  conjurors  say ; 

For  as  to  the  Lady,  I've  stow'd  her  away 

In  this  hill,  in  a  stratum  of  London  blue  clay ; 

And  I  shan't,  I  assure  you,  restore  her  to-day 

Till  you  faithfully  promise  no  more  to  say  *  Nay,' 

But  declare,  *  If  she  will  be  a  nun,  why  she  may.* 

For  this  you've  my  word,  and  I  never  yet  bro'»:e  it, 

So  put  that  in  your  pipe,  my  Lord  Otto,  and  smoke  itl«— 

One  hint  to  your  vassals, — a  month  at  *  the  Mill  * 

Shall  be  nuts  to  what  they'll  get  Avho  worry  Odille  I " 

The  Saint  disappear'd  as  she  ended,  and  so 

Did  the  little  boys'  heads,  which,  above  and  below, 

As  I  told  you  a  very  few  stanzas  ago, 

Had  been  flying  about  her,  and  jumping  Jim  Crow ; 

Though,  without  any  body,  or  leg,  foot,  or  toe, 

How  they  managed  such  antics,  I  really  don't  know ; 

Be  that  as  it  may,  they  all  "  melted  like  snow 

Off  a  dyke,"  as  the  Scotch  say  in  sweet  Edinbro*. 

And  there  stood  the  Count 

With  his  men,  on  the  mount. 
Just  likcr  "  twenty-four  jackasses  all  on  a  row." 
What  was  best  to  be  done  ? — 'twas  a  sad  bitter  pill- 
But  gulp  it  he  must,  or  else  lose  his  Odille. 

The  lord  of  Alsace  therefore  alter'd  his  plan, 

And  said  to  himself,  like  a  sensible  man, 

"  I  can't  do  as  I  would, — I  must  do  as  I  can ; 

It  will  not  do  to  lie  under  any  Saint's  ban. 

For  your  hide,  when  you  do,  they  all  manage  to  tan; 

So  Count  Herman  must  pick  up  sonie  Betsy  or  Nan, 

Instead  of  my  girl, — some  Sue,  Polly,  or  Fan  : — 

If  he  can't  get  the  corn  he  must  do  with  the  bran, 

And  make  shift  with  the  pot  if  he  can't  have  the  pan,** 

With  such  proverbs  as  these 

He  went  down  on  his  knees, 
And  said,  "  Blessed  St  Ermengarde,  just  as  you  please— 


THE    LAY    OF    ST.    ODILLE.  Pi^ 

Tney  shall  build  a  new  convent, — 111  pay  the  whole  bill, 
(Taking  discount,) — its  Ab'bess  shall  be  my  Odille  1" 

There  are  some  of  my  readers,  I'll  venture  to  say, 

Who  have  never  seen  Friburg,  though  some  of  them  may 

And  others,  'tis  likely  may  go  there  some  day. 

Now,  if  ever  you  happen  to  travel  that  way, 

I  do  beg  and  pray, — 'twill  your  pains  well  repay,— 

That  you'll  take  what  the  Cockney  folks  call  a  '  po-shay, 

(Though  in  Germany  these  things  are  more  like  a  dray,) 

You  may  reach  this  same  hill  with  a  single  relay,— 

And  do  look  how  the  rock, 

Tlirough  the  whole  of  its  block, 
Is  split  open,  as  though  by  some  violent  shock 
From  an  earthquake,  or  lightning,  or  horrid  hard  knock 
From  the  club-bearing  fist  of  some  jolly  old  cock 
Of  a  Germanized  giant,  Thor,  Woden,  or  Lok : 

And  see  how  it  rears 

Its  two  monstrous  great  ears. 
For  when  once  you're  between  them  such  each  side  appears 
And  list  to  the  sound  of  the  water  one  hears 
Drip,  drip,  from  the  fissures,  like  rain-drops  or  tears, 
— Odille's,  I  believe, — which  have  flowed  all  these  years; 
—I  think  they  account  for  them  so  ; — ^but  the  rill 
1  am  sure  is  connected  some  way  with  Odille. 


Moral. 
Now  then,  for  a  moral,  which  always  arrives 
At  the  end,  like  the  honey  bees  take  to  their  hives. 
And  the  more  one  observes  it  the  better  one  thrives. — 
We  have  all  heard  it  said  in  the  course  of  our  lives 
"  Needs  must  when  a  certain  old  gentleman  drives," 
"Tis  the  same  with  a  lady, — if  once  she  contrives 
To  get  hold  of  the  ribands,  how  vainly  one  strives 
To  escape  from  her  lash,  or  to  shake  off  her  gyves  1 
Then  let's  act  like  Count  Otto,  and  while  one  survives. 
Succumb  to  mir  She-Saints — videlicet  wives  I 


246  THE    LAY    OF    ST.    ODILLE. 

(Aside.) 
Tliat  is  if  one  has  not  a  "good  buncfi  of  fives." — 
(I  can't  think  how  that  last  line  escaped  from  my  quil]« 
For  I  am  sure  it  has  nothing  to  do  with  Odille.) 
Now  young  ladies,  to  you  I — 
Don't  put  on  the  shrew  I 
And  don't  be  surprised  if  your  father  looks  blue 
When  you're  pert,  and  won't  act  as  he  wants  you  to  do  1 
Be  sure  that  you  never  elope  ; — there  are  few, — 
Believe  me,  you'll  find  what  I  say  to  be  true, — 
Who  run  restive,  but  find  as  they  bake  they  must  brew, 
And  come  off  at  the  last  with  "  a  hole  in  their  shoe  ;" 
Since  not  even  Clapham,  that  sanctified  ville. 
Can  produce  enough  saints  to  save  every  Odille. 


"  Nstolajff,  fjtitpSn   of  2®  fjtt*  of  ^anxratJS,  teas  iorttf  of 

^n^  f)2S  falJjtr  baas  itamtlj  Bytptanus,  anii  Us  moiir  la'ijnnt." 
He  was  born  on  a  cold  frosty  morning,  on  the  dth 
of  December,  (upon  which  day  his  feast  is  still  observed,) 
but  in  what  anno  Domini  is  net  so  clear;  his  baptis- 
mal register,  together  with  that  of  his  friend  and  col- 
league, St.  Thomas  at  Hill,  having  been  "  lost  in  the 
great  fire  of  London." 

St.  Nicholas  was  a  great  patron  of  Mariners,  and, 
saving  your  presence — of  Thieves  also,  which  honor- 
able fraternity  have  long  rejoiced  in  the  appellation  of 
his  "Clerks."  Cervantes's  story  of  Sancho's  detecting 
a  sum  of  money  in  a  swindler's  walking-stick,  is  merely 
the  Spanish  version  of  a  "  Lay  of  St.  Nicholas,"  extant 
"  in  choice  Italian"  a  century  before  honest  Miguel 
was  born. 


247 


A  LAY  OF  ST.  NICHOLAS. 


**  Sattim  sacerdoti  apparuit  aiabolus  in  specie  puella;  pulchritudinis  mirta, 
ot  ecce  Divus,  fide  catholica,  et  cruce,  el  aqua  benedicta  arraatus  venit,  et 
aspersil  aquara  in  nomine  Sanctaj  et  Individuae  Trinitatis,  quam,  quasi 
ardentem,  diabolus,  nequaquara  sustinere  valens,  mugitibus  fugit." 

Roger  Hovkdkn. 

"  Lord  Abbot  !  Lord  Abbot !  I'd  fain  confess ; 

I  am  a-weary,  and  worn  with  woe  ;  . 
Many  a  grief  doth  my  heart  oppress, 

And  haunt  me  whithersoever  I  go  1 " 

On  bended  knee  spake  the  beautifvl  Maid; 

"  Now  lithe  and  listen,  Lord  Abbot  to  me !  " — 
"  Now  naye,  Fair  Daughter,"  the  Lord  Abbot  8aid» 

"Now  naye,  in  sooth  it  may  hard.\  be; 

"Tliere  is  Mess  Michael,  and  holy  Mess  John, 

Sage  Penitauncers  I  ween  be  they ! 
And  hard  by  doth  dwell,  in  St.  Catherine's  cell, 

Ambrose,  the  anchorite  old  and  grey  1 " 

" — Oh,  I  will  have  no-ne  of  Ambrose  or  John, 

Though  sage  Penitauncers  I  trow  they  be ; 
Shrive  me  may  none  save  the  Abbot  alone. 

Now  listen.  Lord  Abbot,  I  speak  to  thee. 

••  Nor  think  foul  scorn,  though  mitre  adorn 

Thy  brow,  to  listen  to  shrift  of  mine ! 
I  am  a  Maiden  royally  born, 

And  I  come  of  old  Plantagenet's  line. 


248  A    LAY    OF   ST.   NICHOLAS. 

"Though  liither  I  stray,  in  lowly  array, 

I  am  a  damsel  of  high  degree ; 
And  the  Compte  of  Eu,  and  the  Lord  of  Ponthieu, 

They  serve  my  father  on  bended  kneo  I 

"  Counts  a  many,  and  Dukes  a  few, 

A  suitoring  came  to  my  father's  Hall ; 
But  the  Duke  of  Lorraine,  with  his  large  domain. 

He  pleased  my  father  beyond  them  aU. 

"Dukes  a  many,  and  Counts  a  few, 
I  would  have  wedded  right  cheerfullie ; 

But  the  Duke  of  Lorraine  was  uncommonly  plain. 
And  I  vow'd  that  he  ne'er  should  my  bridegroom  be  I 

"  So  hither  I  fly,  in  lowly  guise, 

From  their  gilded  domes  and  their  princely  Uaiis , 
Fain  would  I  dwell  in  some  holy  cell, 

Or  within  some  Convent's  peaceful  walls  1 " 

^Then  out  and  spake  that  proud  Lord  Abbot, 
"Now  rest  thee.  Fair  Daughter,  withouten  fear; 

Nor  Count  nor  Duke  but  shall  meet  the  rebuke 
Of  Holy  Church  an  he  seek  thee  here : 

"  Holy  Church  denieth  all  search 

'Midst  her  sanctified  ewes  and  her  saintly  rams ; 
And  the  wolves  doth  mock  who  would  scathe  her  flockt 

Or,  especially,  worry  her  little  pet  lambs. 

"  Then  lay,  Fair  Daughter,  thy  fears  aside, 
For  here  this  day  shalt  thou  dine  with  me  1 " — 

"Now  naye,  now  naye,"  the  fair  maiden  cried  ; 
"  In  sooth.  Lord  Abbot,  that  scarce  may  be  I 

"  Friends  would  whisper,  and  foes  would  frown, 
Sith  thou  art  a  Churchman  of  high  degree, 

And  ill  mote  it  match  with  thy  fair  renown 
That  a  wandering  dainsel  dine  with  thoej 


.^:^^^>^^> 


r — latMofSBtM^if      T 


? 


A    LAY    OF    ST.    NICHOLAS.  240 

There  is  Simon  the  Deacon  hath  pulse  in  store, 
With  beans  and  lettuces  fair  to  see ; 
His  lenten  fare  now  let  me  share, 

I  pray  thee,  Lord  Abbot,  in  charitie  1  ** 

— "  Though  Simon  the  Deacon  hath  pulso  in  store, 

To  our  patron  Saint  foul  shame  it  were 
Should  wayworn  guest,  with  toil  oppress' d. 

Meet  in  his  abbey  such  churlish  fare. 

'  There  is  Peter  the  Prior,  and  Francis  the  Friar, 

And  Roger  the  Monk  sliall  our  convives  be ; 
Small  scandal  I  ween  shall  then  be  seen ; 
They  are  a  goodly  companie  !  " 

The  Abbot  hath  donn'd  his  mitre  and  ring, 

His  rich  dalmatic,  and  maniple  fine  ; 
And  the  choristers  sing,  as  the  lay-brothers  bring 

To  the  board  a  magnificent  turkey  and  chine. 

The  turkey  and  chine,  they  are  done  to  a  nicety 

Liver,  and  gizzard,  and    '1  are  there ; 
Ne'er  mote  Lord  Abbot  pronounce  Benedicite 

Over  more  luscious  or  delicate  fare. 

But  no  pious  stave  he,  no  Pater  or  Ave 

Pronounced,  as  he  gazed  on  that  maiden's  face  • 

She  ask'd  him  for  stuffing,  she  ask'd  him  for  grav* 
She  ask'd  him  for  gizzard  ; — but  not  for  Grace! 

Yet  gaily  the  Lord  Abbot  smiled,  and  press'd. 
And  the  blood-red  -wine  in  the  wine-cup  fill'd ; 

And  he  help'd  his  guest  to  a  bit  of  the  breast, 
And  he  sent  the  drumsticks  down  to  be  grill'd. 

There  was  no  lack  of  old  Sherris  sack, 
»    Of  Hippocras  fine,  or  of  Malmsey  bright ; 

And  aye,  as  he  drain'd  off  his  cup  with  a  smack, 

He  grew  less  pious  and  more  polite. 
11* 


250 


A    LAY    OF    ST.    NICHOLAS. 


She  pledged  him  once,  and  she  pledged  him  twice, 

And  she  drank  as  Ladj  ought  not  to  di'ink ; 
And  he  press'd  her  hand  'neath  the  table  thrice, 

And  he  wink'd  as  Abbot  ought  not  to  wink. 

And  Peter  the  Prior,  and  Francis  the  Friar, 

Sat  each  with  a  napkin  under  his  chin  ; 
But  Roger  the  Monk  got  excessively  drunk, 

So  they  put  him  to  bed  and  they  tuck'd  him  in  1 

The  lay-brothers  gazed  on  each  other,  amazed ; 

And  Simon  the  Deacon,  with  grief  and  surprise, 
As  he  peep'd  through  the  key-hole,  could  scarce  fancy  real 

The  scene  he  beheld,  or  believe  his  own  eyes. 

In  his  ear  was  ringing  the  Lord  Abbot  singing, — 
He  could  not  distinguish  the  words  very  plain, 

But  'twas  all  about  "Cole,"  and  "jolly  old  Soul," 

And  "Fiddlers,"  and  "Punch,"  and  things  quite  as  profane 

Even  Porter  Paul,  at  the  sound  of  mch  revelling, 

With  fervour  himself  began  to  blesis ; 
For  he  thought  he  must  somehow  have  let  the  De"vil  in, — 

And  perhaps  was  not  very  much  out  in  his  guess. 

The  Accusing  Buyers*  "flew  up  to  Heaven's  Chancery," 
Blushing  like  scarlet  with  shame  and  concern  ; 

The  Archangel  took  down  his  tale,  and  in  answer  he 
Wept — (See  the  works  of  the  late  Mr.  Sterne). 

Indeed,  it  is  said,  a  less  taking  both  were  in 

When,  after  a  lapse  of  a  great  many  years. 
They  book'd  Uncle  Toby  five  shillings  for  swearing. 

And  blotted  the  fine  out  again  with  their  tears  I 

•  The  Prince  of  Peripatetic  Informers  ami  terror  of  Staj?e  Coachmen, 
when  such  things  were.  Alacli.!  alack  the  Raiiroadd  have  ruined  hia 
"  vested  interest." 


A    LAY    OF    ST.    NICHOLAS.  251 

But  St  Nicholas'  agony  who  may  paint  ? 

His  senses  at  first  were  wcll-nigli  gone ; 
Tlie  beatified  Saint  was  ready  to  faint 

\VTien  he  saw  in  his  Abbey  such  sad  goings  on  I 

For  never,  I  ween,  had  such  doings  been  seen 

There  before,  from  the  time  that  most  excellent  Prine« 

Earl  Baldwin  of  Flanders,  and  other  Commanders, 
Had  built  and  endowed  it  some  centuries  since. 

— But  hark! — 'tis  a  sound  from  the  outermost  gate  I 

A  startling  sound  from  a  powerful  blow. — 
Who  knocks  so  late  ? — it  is  half  after  eight 

By  the  clock, — and  the  clock's  five  minutes  too  slow. 

Never,  perhaps,  had  such  loud  double  raps 

Been  heard  in  St  Nicholas'  Abbey  before; 
All  agreed  "it  was  shocking  to  keep  people  knocking," 

But  none  seera'd  inclined  to  "  answer  the  door." 

Now  a  louder  bang  through  the  cloisters  rang. 

And  the  gate  on  its  hinges  wide  open  flew; 
And  all  were  aware  of  a  Palmer  there, 

"With  his  cockle,  hat  staff,  and  his  sandal  shot- 
Many  a  furrow,  and  many  a  frown 

By  toil  and  time  on  his  brow  were  traced ; 
And  his  long  loose  gown  was  of  ginger  brown. 

And  his  rosary  dangled  below  his  waist 

Now  seldom,  I  ween,  is  such  costume  seen. 

Except  at  a  stage-play  or  masquerade  ; 
But  who  doth  not  know  it  was  rather  the  go 

With  Pilgrims  and  Saints  in  the  second  Crusade  t 

With  noiseless  stride  did  that  Palmer  glide 

Across  thai  oaken  floor ; 
And  he  made  them  all  jump,  he  gave  such  a  thump 

Against  the  Refectory  door  I 


^iid  A    LAY    OF    ST.    NICHOLAS. 

Wide  open  it  flew,  and  plain  to  the  view 

The  Lord  Abliot  they  all  mote  see ; 
In  his  hand  was  a  cup,  and  he  lifted  it  up, 

"Here's  the  Pope's  good  health  with  three  1 " 

Rang  in  their  ears  three  deafening  cheers, 

" Huzza  1  huzza!  huzza!" 
And  ou'-  of  the  party  said,  "Go  it,  my  hearty!  " 

Waen  outspake  the  Pilgrim  grey — 

**  A  boon.  Lord  Abbot !  a  booi  1  a  boon  1 
Worn  is  my  foot  and  empty  my  scrip ; 

And  nothing  to  speak  of  since  yesterday  nooD 
Of  food.  Lord  Abbot,  hath  passed  my  lij.. 

"And  I  am  come  from  a  far  countree, 
And  have  visited  many  a  holy  slirine ; 

And  long  have  I  trod  the  sacred  sod 
AVhere  the  Saints  do  rest  in  Palestine!  " 

"  An  thou  art  come  from  a  far  countree. 
And  if  thou  in  Paynim  lands  hast  been. 

Now  rede  me  aright  the  most  wonderful  siglit, 
Thou  Palmer  grey,  that  thine  eyes  have  seen. 

•  Arcde  me  aright  the  most  wonderful  sight^ 
Grey  Palmer,  that  ever  thine  eyes  did  see, 

A.nd  a  manchette  of  bread,  and  a  good  warm  be<l, 
And  a  cup  o'  the  best  shall  thy  guerdon  be!  ** 

Oh  1  I  have  been  east,  and  I  have  been  west, 
Ani  I  have  seen  many  a  wonderful  sight ; 
But  n  }ver  to  me  did  it  happen  to  see 

A  wonder  like  that  which  I  see  this  night  I 

"To  see  a  Lord  Abbot,  in  rocliet  and  stt.le, 
With  Prior  and  Friar, — a  strange  marvelle  I — 

O'er  a  jolly  full  bowl,  sitting  cheek  by  jowl. 

And  hob-nobbing  away  with  a  Devil  from  Hell  I ' 


A    LAT    OF    ST.    NICHOLAS.  269 

He  felt  in  his  gown  of  ginger  brown, 

Ajid  he  pull'd  out  a  flask  from  beneath ; 
It  was  rather  tough  work  to  get  out  the  cork. 

But  he  drew  it  at  last  with  his  teeth. 

O'er  a  pint  and  a  quarter  of  holj  water 

He  made  the  sacred  sign ; 
And  he  dash'd  the  whole  on  the  soi-disant  daughter 

Of  old  Plantagenet's  line  1 

Oh !  then  did  she  reek,  and  squeak,  and  shriek, 

With  a  wild  unearthly  scream ; 
And  fizzl'd,  and  hiss'd,  and  produced  such  a  mist; 

They  were  all  half-choked  by  the  steam. 

Her  dove-like  eyes  turn'd  to  coals  of  fire, 

Her  beautiful  nose  to  a  horrible  snout, 
Her  hands  to  paws,  with  nasty  great  claws, 

And  her  bosom  went  in,  and  her  tail  came  out. 

On  her  chin  there  appear'd  a  long  Nanny-goat's  beani. 
And  her  tusks  and  her  teeth  no  man  mote  tell ; 

And  her  horns  and  her  hoofs  gave  infallible  proofs 
Twas  a  frightful  Fiend  from  the  nethermost  Hell  I 

The  Palmer  threw  down  his  ginger  gown. 

His  hat  and  his  cockle ;  and,  plain  to  sight, 
Stood  St  Nicholas'  self,  and  his  shaven  crown 

Had  a  glow-worm  halo  of  heavenly  light. 

The  Fiend  made  a  grasp,  the  Abbot  to  clasp ; 

But  St  Nicholas  lifted  his  holy  toe. 
And,  just  in  the  nick,  let  fly  such  a  kick 

On  his  elderly  ^Cfamesake,  he  made  him  let  go. 

And  out  of  the  window  he  flew  like  a  shot, 

For  the  foot  flew  up  with  a  terrible  thwack, 
And  caught  the  foul  demon  about  the  spot 

Where  his  tail  joins  on  to  the  small  of  his  back. 


254  A    LAY    OF    ST.    NICHOLAS. 

And  he  bounded  away,  like  a  foot-ball  at  play, 

Till  into  the  bottomless  pit  he  fell  slap, 
Knocking  Mammon  the  meagre  o'er  pursy  Belphegor, 

And  Lucifer  into  Beelzebub's  lap. 

Oh  1  happy  the  slip  from  his  Succubine  grip. 

That  saved  the  Lord  Abbot, — though,  breathless  with  fright^ 
In  escaping  he  tumbled,  and  fractured  his  hip. 

An<i  his  left  leg  was  shorter  thenceforth  than  his  right  1 


On  the  banks  of  the  Rhine,  as  he's  stopping  to  dine, 
From  a  certain  Inn-window  the  traveller  is  shown 

Most  picturesqi.e  ruins,  the  scene  of  these  doings, 
Some  miles  up  the  river,  south-east  of  Cologne. 

And,  while  "  sour-kraut"  she  sells  you,  the  Landlady  tells  yoB 
That  there,  in  those  walls,  now  all  roofless  and  bare, 

One  Simon,  a  Deacon,  from  a  lean  grew  a  sleek  one, 
On  filling  a  ci-devant  Abbot's  state  chair. 

How  a  ci-devant  Abbot,  all  clothed  in  drab,  but 
Of  texture  the  coarsest,  hair  shirt,  and  no  shoes^ 

(His  mitre  and  ring,  and  all  that  sort  of  thing 
Laid  aside,)  in  yon  Cave  lived  a  pious  recluse ; 

How  he  rose  with  the  sun,  limping  "  dot  and  go  one," 
To  yon  rill  of  the  mountain,  in  all  sorts  of  weather. 

Where  a  Prior  and  a  Friar,  who  lived  somewhat  higher 
Up  the  rock,  used  to  come  and  eat  cresses  together; 

How  a  thirsty  old  codger,  the  neighbours  called  Roger, 
With  them  drank  cold  water  in  lieu  of  old  wine  1 

What  its  quality  wanted  he  made  up  in  quantity, 
Swiggingr  as  though  he  would  empty  the  Riiine  1 


A    LAY    OF   Bl.    NICHOLAS.  255 

And  how,  as  their  bodily  strength  fail'd,  the  mental  man 

Gain'd  tenfold  vigour  and  force  in  all  four  ; 
A.nd  how,  to  the  day  of  their  death,  the  "  Old  Gentleman" 

Never  attempted  to  kidnap  them  more. 

A.nd  how,  when  at  length,  in  tlie  odour  of  sanctity, 
All  of  them  died  without  grief  or  complaint ; 

The  Monks  of  St,  Nicholas  said  'twas  ridiculous 
Not  to  suppose  every  one  was  a  Saint. 

And  how,  in  the  Abbey,  no  one  was  so  shabby 

As  not  to  say  yearly  four  masses  a  head, 
On  the  eve  of  that  supper,  and  kick  on  the  crupper 

Which  Satan  received,  for  the  souls  of  the  dead  I 

How  folks  long  held  in  reverence  their  reliques  and  raemoriei, 
How  the  ci-devant  Abbot's  obtain'd  greater  still. 

When  some  cripples,  on  touching  his  fractured  oafemorU, 
Threw  down  their  crutches,  and  danced  a  quadrille  1 

And  how  Abbot  S«mon,  (who  turn'd-out  a  prime  one,) 
These  words,  which  grew  into  a  proverb  full  soon. 

O'er  the  late  Abbot's  gro;  to,  stuck  up  as  a  motto, 
"  fi®f)o  sufpts  taitt)  i\t  i3tbiUt  jstoitt  tab«  a  long  sjoont  1 1" 


256 


Kohesia,  daughter  of  Ambrose,  and  sister  to  Sii 
Everard  Ingoldsby,  was  born  about  the  beginning  of 
the  16th  century,  and  was  married  in  152C,  at  St. 
Giles's  Cripplegate  in  the  City  of  London.  The  follow- 
ing narrative  contains  all  else  that  is  known  cf 


257 


THE  LADY  ROHESIA. 


TflE  Lady  Rohesia  lay  on  her  death-bed  ! 

So  said  the  doctor, — and  doctors  are  generally 
allowed  to  be  judges  in  these  matters ; — besides,  Doctor 
Butts  was  the  Court  Physician  :  he  carried  a  crutch- 
handled  staff,  with  its  cross  of  the  blackest  ebony, — 
raison  de  plus  ! 

"  Is  there  no  hope,  Doctor  ?"  said  Beatrice  Grey. 

"  Is  there  no  hope  ?"  said  Everard  Ingoldsby. 

"  Is  there  no  hope  ?"  said  Sir  Guy  de  Montgomeri. 
— He  was  the  Lady  Rohesia's  husband ; — he  spoke  the 
last 

The  doctor  shook  his  head  :  he  looked  at  the  discon- 
solate widower  in  posse,  then  at  the  hour-glass ; — its 
waning  sand  seemed  sadly  to  shadow  forth  the  sinking 
pulse  of  his  patient.  Dr.  Butts  was  a  very  learned  man. 
"  Ars  longa,  vita  brevis  /"  said  Doctor  Butts. 

"I  am  very  sorry  to  hear  it,*'  quoth  Sir  Guy  de 
Montgomeri. 

Sir  Guy  was  a  brave  knight,  and  a  tall ;  but  he  was  no 
scholar. 

"Alas !  my  poor  Sister!"  sighed  Ingoldsby. 

"  Alas !  my  poor  Mistress  !"  sobbed  Beatrice. 

Sir  Guy  neither  sighed  nor  sobbed ;  his  grief  was  too 
deep-seated  foi  outward  manifestation. 


258  THE    LADY    ROHESIA. 

"  And  how  long,  Doctoi  — ?"  The  afiflicted  husband 
could  not  finish  the  sentence. 

Doctor  Butts  withdrew  his  hand  from  the  wrist  of  the 
dying  lady ;  he  pointed  to  the  horologe  ;  scarcely  a 
quarter  of  its  sand  remained  in  the  upper  moiety. 
Again  he  shook  his  head  ;  the  eye  of  the  patient  waxed 
dimmer,  the  rattling  in  the  throat  increased. 

"  What's  become  of  Father  Francis  ?"  whimpered 
Beatrice. 

"  The  last  consolations  of  the  church — "  suggested 
Everard. 

A  darker  shade  came  over  the  brow  of  Sir  Guy. 

"  Where  is  the  Confessor  ?"  continued  his  grieving 
brother-in-law. 

"  In  the  pantry,"  cried  Marion  Hacket  pertly,  as  she 
tripped  down  stairs  in  search  of  that  venerable  ecclesi- 
astic ; — "  in  the  pantry,  I  warrant  me." — The  bower- 
woman  was  not  wont  to  be  in  the  wrong  ; — in  the 
pantry  was  the  holy  man  discovered, — at  his  devotions. 

*^Fax  vohiHCumP^  said  Father  Francis,  as  he  entered 
the  chamber  of  death. 

"  Vita  hrevis  /"  retorted  Doctor  Butts  : — he  was  not 
a  man  to  be  browbeat  out  of  his  Latin, — and  by  a 
paltry  Friar  Minim,  too,  Had  it  been  a  Bishop,  indeed, 
or  even  a  mitred  Abbbt ; — but  a  miserable  Franciscan ! 

"■  Bcnediclte  /"  said  the  friar. 

"  Ars  longa  /"  returned  the  Leech. 

Doctor  Butts  adjusted  the  tassels  of  his  falling  band; 
drew  his  short  sad-coloured  cloak  closer  around  him  ; 
and,  grasping  his  cross-handled  walking-staff,  stalked 
majestically  out  of  the  apartment.  Father  Francis  had 
the  field  to  himself. 


THE    LADY    ROHESIA.  259 

The  worthy  chaplain  hastened  to  administer  the  last 
rites  of  the  church.  To  all  appearance  he  had  little 
time  to  lose :  as  he  concluded,  the  dismal  toll  of  the 
passing-bell  sounded  from  the  belfry  tower ;  little 
Hubert,  the  bandy-legged  sacristan,  was  pulling  with 
all  his  might.  It  was  a  capital  contrivance  that  same 
passing-bell : — which  of  the  Urbans  or  Innocents 
invented  it  is  a  query ;  but,  whoever  he  was,  he 
deserved  well  of  his  country  and  of  Christendom. 

Ah !  our  ancestors  were  not  such  fools,  after  all,  as 
we,  their  degenerate*  children,  conceit  them  to  have 
been.  The  passing  bell !  a  most  solemn  warning  to 
imps  of  every  description,  is  not  to  be  regarded  with 
impunity:  the  most  impudent  Succubus  of  them  all 
dare  as  well  dip  his  claws  in  holy  water,  as  come  within 
the  verge  of  its  sound.  Old  Nick  himself,  if  he  sets 
any  value  at  all  upon  his  tail,  had  best  convey  himself 
clean  out  of  hearing,  and  leave  the  way  open  to  Para- 
dise. Little  Hubert  continued  pulling  with  all  his 
might,  and  St.  Peter  began  to  look  out  for  a  customer. 

The  knell  seemed  to  have  some  effect  even  upon  the 
Lady  Rohesia  :  she  raised  her  head  slightly  ;  inarticu- 
late sounds  issued  from  her  lips, — inarticulate,  that  is, 
to  the  profane  ears  of  the  laity.  Those  of  Father 
Francis,  indeed,  were  sharper  ;  nothing,  as  he  averred, 
could  be  more  distinct  than  the  words,  "  A  thousand 
marks  to  the  priory  of  St.  Mary  Rouncival." 

Now  the  Lady  Rohesia  Ingoldsby  had  brought  her 
husband  broad  lands  and  large  possessions  ;  much  of 
her  ample  dowry,  too,  was  at  her  own  disposal ;  and 
nuncupative  wills  had  not  yet  been  abolished  by  Act 
of  Parliament. 


260  THE    LADY    ROHESIA. 

*'  Pious  soul !"  ejaculated  Father  Francis.  "  A 
thousand  marks,  she  said — " 

"  If  she  did,  I'll  be  shot !"  said  Sir  Guy  de  Mont- 
gomeri. 

" — A  thousand  marks !"  continued  the  Confessor, 
fixing  his  cold  grey  eye  upon  the  knight,  as  he  went  on 
heedless  of  the  interruption  ; — "  a  thousand  marks  ! 
and  as  many  Aves  and  Paters  shall  be  duly  said — as 
soon  as  the  money  is  paid  down." 

Sir  Guy  shrank  from  the  monk's  gaze  ;  he  turned  to 
the  window,  and  muttered  to  himself  something  that 
sounded  like  "  Don't  you  wish  you  may  get  it  ?" 
****** 

The  bell  continued  to  toll.  Father  Francis  had 
quitted  the  room,  taking  with  him  the  remains  of  the 
holy  oil  he  had  been  using  for  Extreme  Unction. 
Everard  Ingoldsby  waited  on  hira  down  stairs. 

"  A  thousand  thanks  !"  said  the  latter. 

"  A  thousand  marks  !"  said  the  friar. 

"  A  thousand  devils !"  growled  Sir  Guy  de  Mont- 
gomeri,  from  the  top  of  the  landing-place. 

But  his  accents  fell  unheeded  :  his  brother-in-law  and 
the  friar  were  gone ;  he  was  left  alone  with  his 
departing  lady  and  Beatrice  Grey. 

Sir  Guy  de  Montgomeri  stood  pensively  at  the  foot 
of  the  bed :  his  arms  were  crossed  upon  his  bosom,  his 
chin  was  sunk  upon  his  breast ;  his  eyes  were  filled 
with  tears  ;  the  dim  rays  of  the  fading  watch-light  gave 
a  darker  shade  to  the  furrows  on  his  brow,  and  a 
brighter  tint  to  the  little  bald  patch  on  the  top  of  his 
head, — for  Sir  Guy  was  a  middle-aged  gentleman,  tall 
and  portly  withal,  with  a  slight  bend  in  his  shoulders, 


THE    LADY    ROHESIA.  261 

but  that  not  much :  his  complexion  was  somewhat 
florio, — especially  about  the  nose ;  but  his  lady  was 
in  extremis,  and  at  this  particular  moment  he  was  paler 
than  usual. 

"  Bim  !  borne  !"  went  the  bell.  The  knight  groaned 
audibly ;  Beatrice  Grey  wiped  her  eye  with  her  httle 
square  apron  of  lace  de  Malines  ;  there  was  a  moment's 
cause, — a  moment  of  intense  affliction  ;  she  let  it  fall, — 
all  but  one  corner,  which  remained  between  her  finger 
and  thumb.  She  looked  at  Sir  Guy  ;  drew  the  thumb 
and  forefinger  of  her  other  hand  slowly  along  its 
border,  till  they  reached  the  opposite  extremity.  She 
sobbed  aloud :  "  So  kind  a  lady  !"  said  Beatrice  Grey. — 
"  So  excellent  a  wife !"  responded  Sir  Guy. — "  So 
good  1"  said  the  damsel. — "  So  dear !"  said  the  knight. — 
"  So  pious  !"  said  she.—"  So  humble  T'  said  he.—"  So 
good  to  the  poor  1" — "  So  capital  a  manager  !" — "  So 
punctual  at  matins  1" — "  Dinner  dished  to  a  moment  1" — 
*'  So  devout  1"  said  Beatrice. — "  So  fond  of  me  !"  said 
Sir  Guy.— "And  of  Father  Francis  !"— "  What  the  devil 
do  you  mean  by  that  ?"  said  Sir  Guy  de  Montgomeri. 


The  knight  and  the  maiden  had  rung  their  antipho- 
nic  changes  on  the  fine  qualities  of  the  departing  Lady, 
like  the  Strophe  and  Antiatrophe  of  a  Greek  play.  The 
cardinal  virtues  once  disposed  of,  her  minor  excellencies 
came  under  review  : — She  would  drown  a  witch,  drink 
lambs'-wool  at  Christmas,  beg  Dominie  Dumps's  boys  a 
holiday,  and  dine  upon  sprats  on  Good  Friday  1  A  low 
moan  from  the  subject  of  these  eulogies  seemed  to 
intimate  that  the  enumeration  of  her  good  deeds  w.i? 


262  THE    LADY    ROHESIA. 

not  altogethei  lost  on  her, — that  the  parting  spirit  feh 
and  rejoiced  in  the  testimony. 

"  She  was  too  good  for  earth !"  continued  Sir  Guy. 

"  Ye-ye-yes  !"  sobbed  Beatrice. 

"  I  did  not  deserve  her  !"  said  the  knight. 

"  No-o-o-o  !"  cried  the  damsel. 

"  Not  but  that  I  made  her  an  excellent  husband,  and 
a  kind ;  but  she  is  going,  and — and — where,  or  when, 
or  how — shall  I  get  such  another  ?" 

"  Not  in  broad  England — not  in  the  whole  wide 
world  !"  responded  Beatrice  Grey  ;  "  that  is,  not  just 
such  another  !"  Her  voice  still  faltered,  but  her  accents 
on  the  whole  were  more  articulate ;  she  dropped  the 
corner  of  her  apron,  and  had  recourse  to  her  handker- 
chief ;  in  fact  her  eyes  were  getting  red, — and  so  was 
the  tip  of  her  nose. 

Sir  Guy  was  silent ;  he  gazed  for  a  few  moments 
stedfastly  on  the  face  of  his  lady.  The  single  word 
"  Another  !"  fell  from  his  lips  like  a  distant  echo  ;  it  is 
not  often  that  the  viewless  nymph  repeats  more  than  is 
necessary. 

"  Bim  !  borne  :"  went  the  bell.  Bandy-legged  Hu- 
bert had  been  tolling  for  half  an  hour ;  he  began  to 
grow  tired,  and  St.  Peter  fidgety. 

"  Beatrice  Grey !"  said  Sir  Guy  de  Montgomeri, 
"  what's  to  be  done  ?  AVhat's  to  become  of  Montgomeri 
Hall? — and  the  buttery, — and  the  servants?  And 
what — what's  to  become  of  me,  Beatrice  Grey  ?"  There 
was  pathos  in  his  tones,  and  a  solemn  pause  succeeded. 
'*  I'll  turn  monk  myself !"  said  Sir  Guy. 

"  Monk  ?"  said  Beatrice. 

**  ril  be  a  Carthusian  !"  repeated  the  knight,  but  in  ft 


THE    LADY    ROHESIA.  26Z 

tone  less  assured  :  he  relapsed  into  a  reverie.  Shave 
Jais  head ! — ^he  did  not  so  much  mind  that, — he  was 
getting  rather  hald  already ;  but,  beans  for  dinner, — an<* 
those  without  butter — and  then  a  horse-hair  shirt ! 

The  knight  seemed  undecided :  his  eye  roamed 
gloomily  around  the  apartment :  it  paused  upon  dif- 
ferent objects,  but  as  if  it  saw  them  not ;  its  sense  was 
shut,  and  there  was  no  speculation  in  its  glance  :  it 
rested  at  last  upon  the  fair  fece  of  the  sympathising 
damsel  at  his  side,  beautiful  in  lier  grief. 

Her  tears  had  ceased  ;  but  her  eyes  were  cast  dovvn, 
and  mournfully  fixed  upon  her  delicate  little  foot,  which 
was  beating  the  devil's  tattoo. 

There  is  no  talking  to  a  female  when  she  does  not 
I'Dok  at  you.  Sir  Guy  turned  round, — he  seated  him- 
self on  the  edge  of  the  bed;  and,  placing  his  hand 
beneath  the  chin  of  the  lady,  turned  up  her  face  in  an 
angle  of  fifteen  degrees. 

"I  don't  think  I  shall  take  the  vows,  Beatrice;  but 
what's  to  become  of  me  ?  Poor,  miserable,  old — that 
is,  poor,  miserable,  middle-aged  man  than  I  am  !  Nu 
one  to  comfort,  no  one  to  care  for  me  !"  Bt^atrice's  teai-s 
flowed  afresh,  but  she  opened  not  her  lips.  "  'Pon  my 
life  I"  continued  he,  "  I  don't  believe  there  is  a  creature 
now  would  care  a  button  if  I  were  hanged  to-morrow  !" 

"  Oh  !  don't  say  so.  Sir  Guy  !"  sighed  Beatrice ; 
"  you  know  there's — there's  Master  Everard,  and — and 
Fatlier  Francis—" 

"  Pish  !"  cried  Sn  Guy  testily. 

*'  And — there's  your  favourite  old  bitch." 

"  I  am  not  thinking  of  old  bitches  1"  quoth  Sir  Guy 
de  Montirome.-i. 


26'i  THE    LADY    ROHKSIA. 

Another  pause  ensued  :  the  knight  had  released  hei 
chin,  and  taken  her  hand  ;  it  was  a  pretty  little  hand, 
with  Icng  taper  fingers  and  filbert-formed  nails,  and 
the  softness  of  the  palm  said  little  for  its  owner's 
industry. 

"  Sit  down,  my  dear  Beatrice,"  said  the  knight, 
thoughtfully ;  "  you  must  be  fatigued  with  your  long 
watching.  Take  a  seat,  my  child."  Sir  Guy  did  not 
relinquish  her  hand ;  but  he  sidled  along  the  counter- 
pane, and  made  room  for  his  companion  between  him- 
self and  the  bed-post. 

Now  this  is  a  very  awkward  position  for  two  people 
to  be  placed  in,  especially  when  the  right  hand  of  the 
one  holds  the  right  hand  of  the  other ;  in  such  an  atti- 
tude, what  the  deuce  can  the  gentleman  do  with  his 
left  ?  Sir  Guy  closed  his  till  it  became  an  absolute  fist, 
and  his  knuckles  rested  on  the  bed  a  little  in  the  rear 
of  his  companion. 

"  Another  !"  repeated  Sir  Guy,  musing  ;  "  if,  indeed, 
I  could  find  such  another !"  He  was  talking  to  his 
thought,  but  Beatrice  Grey  answered  him. 

"  There's  Madam  Fitzfoozle."  ** 

"  A  frump  !"  said  Sir  Guy. 

"  Or  the  Lady  Bumbarton." 

"  With  her  hump  !"  muttered  he. 

"  There's  the  Dowager—" 

"  Stop — stop  !"  said  the  knight,  "  stop  one  moment  V* 
lie  paused  ;  he  was  all  on  the  tremble ;  something 
seemed  rising  in  his  throat,  but  he  gave  a  great  gulp-, 
and  swallowed  it.  "  Beatrice,"  said  he,  "  what  think 
you  of — "  his  voice  sank  into  a  most  seductive  softnes8| 
— **  what  think  you  of — Beatrice  Grey  ?" 


THB   LADT   ROHESIA.  265 

The  murder  was  out:  the  knight  felt  infinitely 
relieved  ;  the  knuckles  of  his  left  hand  unclosed  spon- 
taneously ;  and  the  arm  he  had  felt  such  a  difficulty  in 
disposing  of,  found  itself, — nobody  knows  how, — all  at 
once,  encircling  the  jimp  waist  of  the  pretty  Beatrice. 
The  young  lady's  reply  was  expressed  in  three  syllables. 
They  were, — "  Oh,  Sir  Guy  1"  The  words  might  be 
somewhat  indefinite,  but  there  was  no  mistaking  the 
look.  Their  eyes  met ;  Sir  Guy's  left  arm  contracted 
itself  spasmodically  :  when  the  eyes  meet, — at  least,  as 
theirs  met, — the  lips  are  very  apt  to  follow  the  example. 
The  knight  had  taken  one  long,  loving  kiss — nectar 
and  ambrosia !  He  thought  on  Doctor  Butts  and  hia 
repetatur  haustus^ — a  prescription  Father  Francis  had 
taken  infinite  pains  to  translate  for  him  :  he  was  about 
to  repeat  it,  but  the  dose  was  interrupted  in  transitit. 
Doubtless  the  adage, 

"  There  ia  many  a  slip 
Twixt  the  cup  and  the  lip,** 

ftath  reference  to  medicine.  Sir  Guy's  lip  was  agam  all 
but  in  conjunction  with  that  of  his  bride  elect. 

It  has  been  hinted  already  that  there  was  a  little 
round  polished  patch  on  the  summit  of  the  knight's 
pericranium,  from  which  his  locks  had  gradually 
receded  ;  a  sort  of  oasis, — or  rather  a  Mont  Blanc  in 
miniature,  rismg  above  the  highest  point  of  vegetation. 
It  was  on  this  little  spot,  undefended  alike  by  Art  and 
Nature,  that  at  this  interesting  moment  a  blow  descended, 
such  as  we  must  borrow  a  term  from  the  Sister  Island 
adequately  to  describe, — it  was  a  "  Whack  !" 

Sir  Guy  started  upon  his  feet ;  Beatrice  Grey  started 

FIRST    SERIES.  12 


266  THE    LADY    ROHESIA. 

upon  hers  :  but  a  single  glance  to  the  rear  reversed  hei 
position, — she  fell  upon  her  knees  and  screamed. 

The  knight,  too,  wheeled  about,  and  beheld  a  sight 
which  might  have  turned  a  bolder  man  to  stone.  I 
was  She  ! — the  all  but  defunct  Rohesia — there  she  sat 
bolt  upright ! — her  eyes  no  longer  glazed  with  the  fihii 
of  impending  dissolution,  but  scintillating  like  flint  and 
steel ;  while  in  her  hand  she  grasped  the  bed-staff, — a 
weapon  of  mickle  might,  as  her  husband's  bloody  cox- 
comb could  now  well  testify.  Words  were  yet  wanting, 
for  the  quinsy,  which  her  rage  had  broken,  still  impeded 
her  utterance;  but  the  strength  and  rapidity  of  her 
guttural  intonations  augured  well  for  her  future  elo- 
quence. 

Sir  Guy  de  Montgomeri  stood  for  a  while  like  a  man 
distraught ;  this  resurrection — for  such  it  seemed — had 
quite  overpowered  him.  "A  husband  ofttimes  makea 
the  best  physician,"  says  the  proverb ;  he  was  a  living 
personification  of  its  truth.  Still  it  was  whispered  he 
had  been  content  with  Dr.  Butts;  but  his  lady  was 
restored  to  bless  him  for  many  years.  Heavens,  what  a 
life  he  led ! 

The  Lady  Rohesia  mended  apace;  her  quinsy  was 
cured ;  the  bell  was  stopped  ;  and  little  Hubert,  the 
bacristan,  kicked  out  of  the  chapelry.  St.  Peter  opened 
his  wicket,  and  looked  out ; — there  was  nobody  there  ; 
so  he  flung-to  the  gate  in  a  passion,  and  went  back  to 
his  lodge,  grumbling  at  being  hoaxed  by  a  runaway 
ring. 

Years  rolled  on.  The  improvement  of  Lady  Rohesia's 
temper  did  not  keep  pace  with  that  of  her  health ;  and 
one  fine  morning  Sir  Guy  de  Montgomeri  was  seen  to 


THE    LAbV    ROHESIA.  26? 

enter  the  parte-cock^re  of  Durham  House,  at  that  time 
the  town  residence  of  Sir  Walter  Raleigh.  Nothing 
more  was  ever  heard  of  him  ;  but  a  boat  full  of  adven- 
turers was  known  to  have  dropped  down  with  the  tide 
that  evening  to  Deptford  Hope,  where  lay  the  good 
ship  the  Darling,  commanded  by  Captain  Keymis,  who 
Bailed  next  morning  on  the  Virginia  voyage. 

A  brass  plate,  some  eighteen  inches  long,  may  yet 
be  seen  in  Denton  chancel,  let  into  a  broad  slab  of 
Bethersden  marble  ;  it  represents  a  lady  kneeling,  in 
her  wimple  and  hood  ;  her  hands  are  clasped  in  prayer, 
and  beneath  is  an  inscription  in  the  characters  of  the 
age— 

*'^rni£  for  2^  sohilt  of  je  i^aljj  S^ojse, 
an&  for  alU  (S^\)xistm  soboUs  !" 

The  date  is  illegible ;  but  it  appears  that  she  survived 
King  Henry  the  Eighth,  and  that  the  dissolution  of 
monasteries  had  lost  St.  Mary  Rouncival  her  thousand 
marks.  As  for  Beatrice  Grey,  it  is  well  known  that  she 
was  alive  in  1559,  and  then  had  virginity  enough  left 
to  be  11  maid  of  Honour  to  "  good  Queen  Bess." 


26S 


It  was  during  the  "Honey  (or,  as  it  is  sometimes 
termed,  the  "  Treacle,")  Moon,"  that  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Sea- 
forth  passed  through  London.  A  "  goodnatured  friend," 
who  dropped  in  to  dinner,  forced  them  in  the  evening 
to  the  theatre  for  the  purpose  of  getting  rid  of  him.  I 
give  Charles's  account  of  the  Tragedy,  just  as  it  was 
written,  without  altering  even  the  last  couplet — for 
there  would  be  no  making  "  Egerton"  rhyme  with 
-Story." 


269 


rnE  TRAGEDY. 


Quaeque  ipse  miserrima  vidi.— Viboil. 

Gathkrixe  of  Cleves  was  a  Ladj  of  rank. 

She  had  lands  and  fine  houses,  and  cash  in  the  Bank ; 

She  had  jewels  and  rings, 

And  a  thousand  smart  things ; 

Was  lovely  and  young, 

With  a  rather  sharp  tongue. 
And  she  wedded  a  Noble  of  high  degree 
With  the  star  of  the  order  of  St,  Esprit : 

But  the  Duke  de  Guise 

Was,  by  many  degrees, 
Her  senior,  and  not  very  easy  to  please ; 
He'd  a  sneer  on  his  lip,  and  a  scowl  with  his  eye, 
And  a  frown  on  his  brow, — and  he  look'd  Uke  a  Gnj",- 

So  she  took  to  intriguing 

With  Monsieur  St.  Megrin, 
A  young  man  of  fashion,  and  figure,  and  worth. 
But  with  no  great  pretensions  to  fortune  or  birth ; 

He  would  smg,  fence,  and  dance 

With  the  best  man  in  France, 
And  took  his  rappee  with  genteel  nonchalance ; 
He  smiled,  and  he  flatter'd,  and  flirted  with  ease. 
And  was  very  superior  to  Monseigneur  de  Guise. 

Now  Monsieur  St  Megrin  was  curious  to  know 
If  the  Lady  approved  of  his  passion  or  no  ; 


270 


THE    rUxVOEDY. 


So  without  more  ado, 

He  put  on  his  surtout. 
And  went  to  a  man  with  a  beard  like  a  Jew, 

One  Signor  Ruggieri, 

A  Cunning-man  near,  he 
Could  conjure,  tell  fortunes,  and  calculate  tides, 
Perform  tricks  on  the  cards,  and  Heaven  knows  what  beside^ 
Bring  back  a  stray 'd  cow,  silver  ladle,  or  spoon, 
And  was  thought  to  be  thick  with  the  Man  in  the  Moon. 

The  sage  took  his  stand 

With  his  wand  in  his  hand, 
Drew  a  circle,  then  gave  the  dread  word  of  command. 
Saying  solemnly — "  Presto  ! — Hey,  quick  ! — Cock-a-lomm  It" 
When  the  Duchess  immediately  popp'd  up  before  'em. 

Just  then  a  Conjunction  of  Venus  and  Mars, 

Or  something  peculiar  above  in  the  stars, 

Attracted  the  notice  of  Signor  Ruggieri, 

Who  "  bolted,"  and  left  him  alone  with  his  deary. — 

Monsieur  St.  Megrin  went  down  on  his  knees. 

And  the  Duchess  shed  tears  large  as  marrow-fat  peas, 

When, — fancy  the  shock, — 

A  loud  double  knock. 
Made  the  Lady  cry  •'  Get  up,  you  fool ! — there's  De  Guiw  I  "— 

'Twas  his  Grace,  sure  enough ; 

So  Monsieur,  looking  bluff, 
Strutted  by,  with  his  hat  on,  and  fingering  his  ruff, 
While,  unseen  by  either,  away  flew  the  Dame 
Through  the  opposite  key-hole,  the  same  way  she  came: 

But,  alack  !  and  alas  I 

A  mishap  came  to  pass, 
In  her  hurry  she,  somehow  or  other,  let  fall 
A  new  silk  Bandana  she'd  worn  as  a  shawl ; 

She  had  used  it  for  drying 

Her  bright  eyes  while  crying. 
And  blowing  her  nose,  as  her  Beau  talk'd  of  dying  I  " 

Now  the  Duke,  who  had  seen  it  so  lately  adorn  her, 
And  knew  the  great  C  with  the  Crown  in  the  corner 


THE   TRAGEDr.  27) 

The  restant  he  spied  it,  smoked  something  amiss, 

And  said,  wiih  some  energy,   "D it  I  what's  this  ? " 

He  went  home  in  a  fume, 

And  bounced  into  her  room, 
Crying,   "So,  Ma'am,  I  find  I've  some  cause  to  be  jealous 
Look  here  ! — here's  a  proof  you  run  after  the  fellows  1 
— Now  take  up  that  pen, —  if  it's  bad  choose  a  better, — 
And  write,  as  I  dictate,  this  moment  a  letter 

To  Monsieur — ^you  know  who  ?  " 

The  Lady  look'd  blue  ; 
But  replied  with  much  firmness — "  Hang  me  if  I  do  I  " 

De  Guise  grasped  her  wrist 

With  his  great  bony  fist. 
And  pinch'd  it,  and  gave  it  so  painful  a  twist, 
That  his  liard,  iron  gauntlet  the  flesh  went  an  inch  in,— 
She  did  not  mind  death,  but  she  could  not  stand  pinching 

So  she  sat  down  and  wrote 

This  polite  little  note : — 

'  Dear  Mister  St.  Megrin, 

The  Chiefs  of  the  League  in 

Our  house  mean  to  dine 

This  evening  at  nine; 

I  shall,  soon  after  ten, 

Slip  away  from  the  men, 
And  you'll  find  me  upstairs  in  the  drawing-room  then  ; 
Come  up  the  back  way,  or  those  impudent  thieves 
Of  Servants  will  see  you;     Yours 

CAxnERixE  OF  Clkvei.  ' 
She  directed  and  sealed  it,  all  pale  as  a  ghost, 
And  De  Guise  put  it  into  the  Twopenny  Post. 

St  Megrin  had  almost  jumped  out  of  his  skin 
Foi  joy  that  day  when  the  post  came  in; 

He  read  the  note  througli, 

Tlien  began  it  anew, 
And  thought  it  almost  too  goo;l  news  to  be  true.— 

He  clapp'd  on  his  hat, 

And  a  hood  over  that» 


272  THE    TRAGEDY. 

With  a  cloak  to  disguise  him,  and  make  hiro  look  fat , 
So  great  his  impatience,  from  half  after  Four 
He  was  waiting  till  Ten  at  De  Guise's  back  door. 
When  he  heard  the  great  clock  of  St.  Genevieve  chime 
He  ran  up  ihe  back  staircase  six  steps  at  a  time. 

He  had  scarce  made  his  bow, 

He  hardly  knew  how, 

When  alas!  and  alack  1 

There  was  no  getting  back, 
For  the  drawing-room  door  was  bang'd  to  with  a  whack;— 

In  vain  he  applied 

To  the  handle  and  tried, 
Somebody  or  other  had  locked  it  outside  1 
And  the  Duchess  in  agony  mourned  her  mishap, 
"  We  are  caught  like  a  couple  of  rats  in  a  trap." 

Now  the  Duchess's  Page, 

About  twelve  years  of  age, 
For  80  little  a  boy  was  remarkably  sage ; 
And,  just  in  the  nick,  to  their  joy  and  amazement, 
Popp'd  the  Gas-lighter's  ladder  close  under  the  casement 

But  all  would  not  do, — 

Though  St  Megrin  got  through 
The  window, — below  stood  De  Guise  and  his  crew. 
And  though  never  man  was  more  brave  than  St  Megrm 
Yet  fighting  a  score  is  extremely  fatiguing ; 

He  thrust  carte  and  tierce 

Uncommonly  fierce, 
But  not  Beelzebub's  self  could  their  cuirasses  pierce ; 

While  his  doublet  and  hose. 

Being  holiday  clothes. 
Were   soon   cut  through   and  through  from  his  kiffees  to  hv 

nose. 
Still  an  old  crooked  sixpence  the  Conjuror  gave  him 
From  pistol  and  sword  was  sufficient  to  save  him. 

But  when  beat  on  his  knees, 

That  confounded  De  Guise 
Came  behind  with  the  "  fogle  "  that  caused  all  (his  breeze, 


THE    rK/.OEDY.  273 

Whipp'd  it  tight  round  his  neck,  and,  when  backward  he'd 

jerk'd  hiin. 
The  rest  of  the  rascals  jumped  on  him  and  Burked  him. 
The  poor  little  Page,  too,  himself  got  no  quarter,  but 

Was  served  the  same  waj, 

And  was  found  the  next  day 
With  his  heels  in  the  air,  and  his  head  in  the  water-butt ; 

Catherine  of  Cleves 

Roar'd  "Murder!  "and  "Thieves!" 

From  the  window  above 

"While  they  murder'd  her  love ; 
Till,  finding  the  rogues  had  accoraplish'd  his  slaughter, 
Bhe  drank  Prussic  acid  without  any  water, 
And  died  like  a  Duke-and-a-Duchess's  daughter  I 

Moral. 

Take  warning,  ye  Fair,  from  this  tale  of  the  Bard's, 
And  dont  go  where  fortunes  are  told  on  the  cards, 
But  steer  clear  of  Conjurors, — never  put  query 
To  "Wise  Mrs.  "Williams,"  or  folks  like  Ruggieri. 
When-  alone  in  your  room  shut  the  door  close,  and  lock  it 
Above  all, — keep  your  handkerchief  safe  in  your  pockbi 
Lest  you  too  should  stumble,  and  Lord  Leveson  Gower,  he 
Be  call'd  on, — sad  poetl — to  tell  your  sad  story  1 


274 


It  was  in  the  summer  of  1838  tliat  a  party  from 
Tappington  reached  the  metropolis  with  a  view  of 
witnessing  the  coronation  of  their  youthful  Queen, 
whom  God  long  preserve  ! — This  purpose  they  were 
fortunate  enough  to  accomplish  by  the  purchase  of  a 
peer's  ticket,  from  a  stationer  in  the  Strand,  who  was 
enabled  so  to  dispose  of  some,  greatly  to  the  indigna- 
tion of  the  hereditary  Earl  Marshal.  How  Mr.  Barney 
managed  to  insinuate  himself  into  the  Abbey  remains  a 
mystery :  his  characteristic  modesty  and  address  doubt- 
less assisted  him,  for  there  he  unquestionably  was. 
The  result  of  his  observations  was  thus  communicated 
to  his  associates  in  the  Servants'  Hall  upon  his  return, 
to  the  infinite  delectation  of  Mademoiselle  Pauline  ovei 
a  Cruiskeen  of  his  own  concocting. 


276 


MR.  BARNEY  MAGUIRE'S   ACCOUNT   OF  THE 
CORONATION. 


Air—"  Tlte  Groves  of  Blarney.** 

OcH  1  the  Coronation !  what  celebration 

For  emulation  can  with  it  compare? 
When  to  Westminster  the  Royal  Spinster, 

And  the  Duke  of  Leinster,  all  in  order  did  repair  I 
Twas  there  you'd  see  the  New  Polishemen 

Making  a  skrimmage  at  half  after  four, 
.ind  the  Lords  and  Ladies,  and  Miss  O'Grady^ 

AH  standing  round  before  the  Abbey  door. 

Their  pillows  scorning,  that  self-same  morning 

Themselves  adorning,  all  by  the  candle-light^ 
With  roses  and  lilies,  and  dafFy-down-dillies, 

And  gould,  and  jewels,  and  rich  di'monds  bright, 
-ind  then  approaches  five  hundred  coaches. 

With  Giniral  Dullbeak. — Ocli !  'twas  mighty  fine 
To  see  how  asy  oould  Corporal  Casey, 

With   his   sword  drawn,  prancing,  made  them  knpe  the 
line. 

Chen  the  Guns*  alarums,  and  the  King  of  Arums, 

All  in  his  Garters  and  his  Clarence  shoes, 
Opening  the  massy  doors  to  the  bould  Ambassydors. 

The  Prince  of  Potboys,  and  great  hay  then  Jews ; 
Twould  have  made  you  crazy  to  see  Esterhazy 

All  joo'ls  from  his  jasey  to  his  di'mond  boots. 
With  Alderman  Harmer,  and  that  swate  charmer 

The  famale  heiress,  Miss  Anja-ly  Coutts. 


276  MR.    BARNEY    MAGUIRE*S 

And  "Wellington,  walking  with  his  swoord  drawn,  talking 

To  Hill  and  Hardinge,  haroes  of  great  fame  ; 
And  Sir  De  Lacy,  and  the  Duke  Dalmasej, 

(They  call'd  him  Sowlt  afore  he  changed  his  name,! 
Tliemselves  presading  Lord  Melbourne,  lading 

The  Queen,  the  darling,  to  her  royal  chair, 
And  that  fine  ould  fellow,  the  Duke  of  Pell-Mello, 

The  Queen  of  Portin  gal's  Chargy-de-fair. 

Then  the  Noble  Prussians,  likewise  the  Russians, 

In  fine  laeed  jackets  with  'heir  goulden  cuff's, 
And  the  Bavarians,  and  the  proud  Hungarians, 

And  Everythingarians  all  in  furs  and  muffs. 
Then  Misthur  Spaker,  with  Misthur  Pays  the  Quaker, 

All  in  the  Gallery  you  might  persave; 
But  Lord  Brougham  was  missing,  and  gone  a-fishing, 

Ounly  crass  Lord  Essex  would  not  give  him  lave. 

There  was  Baron  Alten  himself  exalting, 

And  Prince  Von  Swartzenburg,  and  many  more, 
Och !  rd  be  bother'd  and  entirely  smother'd 

To  tell  the  half  of  'em  was  to  the  fore ; 
With  the  swate  Peeresses,  in  their  crowns  and  dresses, 

And  Aldermanesses,  and  the  boord  of  Works ; 
But  Mehemet  Ali  said,  quite  gintaly, 

"  I'd  be  proud  to  see  the  likes  among  the  Turks  I " 

Then  the  Queen,  Heaven  bless  her !  och  I  they  did  dress  beT 

In  her  purple  garaments  and  her  goulden  Crown ; 
Like  Venus  or  Hebe,  or  the  Queen  of  Sheby, 

"With  eight  young  Ladies  lioulding  up  her  gown. 
Sure  'twas  grand  to  see  her,  also  for  to  he-ar 

The  big  drums  bating,  and  the  trumpets  blow. 
And  Sir  George  Smart !  Oh !  he  play'd  a  Consarto^ 

"With  his  tour-and-twenty  fiddlers  all  on  a  rowl 

Then  the  Lord  Archbishop  held  a  goulden  dish  up, 
For  to  resave  her  bounty  an.i  great  wealth. 


ACCOUNT  OF  THE  CORONATION.         277 

Saying,   "  Plase  your  Glory,  great  Queen  Vic-tory  1 
Ye'll  give  the  Clargy  lave  to  dhrink  your  health !  " 

Then  his  Riverence,  retrating,  diseoorsed  the  mating , 
"Boys!  Here's  your  Queen!  deny  it  if  you  can! 

And  if  any  bould  traitour,  or  infarior  crathur, 
Sneezes  at  that,  I'd  like  to  see  the  man !  " 

Then  the  Nobles  kneeling  to  the  Pow'rs  appealing, 

"Heaven  send  your  Majesty  a  glorious  reign  1  " 
And  Sir  Claudius  Hunter  he  did  confront  her, 

AJl  in  his  scarlet  gown  and  go  widen  chain. 
The  great  Lord  May'r,  too,  sat  in  his  chair,  too, 

But  mighty  sarious,  looking  fit  to  cry, 
For  the  Earl  of  Surrey,  all  in  his  hurry, 

Throwing  the  thirteens,  hit  him  in  his  eye. 

Then  there  was  preaching,  and  good  st^re  of  ppeechipf . 

With  Dukes  and  Marquises  on  bended  knee ; 
Ajid  they  did  splash  her  -with  raal  Macasshur, 

And  the  Queen  said,   "  Ah  !  then,  thank  ye  all  for  me  1  **— 
Then  the  trumpets  braying,  and  the  organ  playing. 

And  sweet  trombones  with  their  silver  tones; 
But  Lord  Rolle,  was  rolling ; — 'twas  mighty  consoling 

To  think  that  his  Lordship  did  not  break  his  bones  1 

Then  the  crames  and  custiird,  and  the  beef  and  mustard, 

All  on  the  tombstones  like  a  poultherer's  shop ; 
With  lobsters  and  white-bait,  and  other  swate-meats, 

And  wine,  and  nagus,  and  Imparial  Pop! 
There  was  cakes  and  apples  in  all  the  Chapels, 

With  fine  polonies,  and  rich  mellow  pears, — 
Ocb  !  the  Count  Von  Strogonoff,  sure  he  got  prog  enough. 

The  sly  old  Divil,  undernathe  the  stairs. 

Then  the  cannons  thunder'd,  and  the  people  wonder'd. 
Crying,   "  God  save  Victori  i,  our  Royal  Queen  1  " — 

— Och  I  if  myself  sho  ild  live  to  bo  a  hundred, 
Sure  it's  the  proudest  day  that  I'll  have  seen  1— 


278    MR.    MAGUIRE*S    ACCOUNT    OF   THE    CORONATION". 

And  now  I  have  ended,  what  I  pretended, 
This  narration  splendid  in  swate  poe-thry, 

Ye  dear  bewitcher,  just  hand  the  pitcher, 
Faith,  it's  myself  that's  getting  mighty  dhry  1 


As  a  pendant  to  the  foregoing,  I  shall  venture  to 
insert  Mr.  Simpkinson's  lucubrations  on  a  subject  to 
him,  as  a  Savant  of  tlie  first  class,  scarcely  less  inter- 
esting. The  aerial  voyage  to  which  it  alludes  took 
place  about  a  year  and  a  half  previously  to  the  august 
event  already  recorded,  and  the  excitement  manifested 
in  the  learned  Antiquary's  effusion  may  give  some  faint 
idea  of  that  which  prevailed  generally  among  the  Sons 
of  Science  at  that  memorable  epoch. 


279 


THE  "MONSTRE"  BALLOON. 


OhI  the  balloon,  the  great  balloon 
It  left  Vaiixhall  one  Monday  at  noon, 
And  every  one  said  we  should  hear  of  it  soon 
"With  news  from  Aleppo  or  Scanderoon. 
But  very  soon  after  folks  changed  their  tune ; 
"  The  netting  had  burst — the  silk — the  shalloon  ; — 
It  had  met  with  a  trade-wind — a  deuced  monsoon — 
■  It  was  blown  out  to  sea — it  was  blown  to  the  moon — 
They  ought  to  have  put  off  their  journey  till  June ; 
Sure  none  but  a  donkey,  a  goose,  or  baboon 
Would  go  up  in  November  in  any  balloon !  " 

Then  they  talk'd  about  Green — "  Oh !  where's  Mister  Green 

And  where's  Mister  Hollond  who  hired  the  machine  f 

And  where  is  Monk  Mason,  the  man  that  has  been 

Up  so  often  before — twelve  times  or  thirteen — 

And  who  writes  such  nice  letters  describing  the  scene? 

And  where's  the  cold  fowl,  and  the  ham  and  poteen  ? 

Tlie  press'd  beef,  with  the  fat  cut  off — nothing  but  lean. 

And  the  portable  soup  in  the  patent  tureen  i 

Have  they  got  to  Grand  Cairo,  or  reach'd  Aberdeen? 

Or  Jerusalem — Hamburg — or  Ballyporeen  ? 

No!  they   have   not  been   seen!     OhI    they  haven't   beon 

seen !  ** 
Stay  I  here's  Mister  Gye — Mr.  Frederick  Gye^ 
*'  At  Paris,"  says  he,   "  I've  been  up  very  high, 
A  couple  of  hundred  of  toises,  or  nigh, 
A  cockstride  the  Tuilleries'  pantiles,  to  poy. 


280  THE    "  M0N8TRE  "    BALLOON. 

With  Dollond's  best  telescope  stuck  at  my  eye, 
And  my  umbrella  under  my  arm  like  Paul  Pry, 
But  I  could  see  nothing  at  all  but  the  sky ; 
So  I  thought  with  myself  'twas  of  no  use  to  try 
Any  longer :  and,  feeling  remarkably  dry 
From  sitting  all  day  stuck  up  there,  like  a  Guy, 
I  came  down  again,  and — ^you  see — here  am  1 1  ** 

But  he~<»'s  Mr.  Hughes  1 — What  says  youn^  ^.xr.  Hughes  ?- 
"  Why,  I'm  sorry  to  say  we've  not  srn*  _»ny  news 
Since  the  letter  they  threw  down  in  one  of  their  shoes, 
Which  gave  the  mayor's  nose  such  a  deuce  of  a  bruise, 
As  he  popp'd  up  his  eye-glass  to  look  at  their  cruise 
Over  Dover ;  and  which  the  folks  flock'd  to  peruse 
At  Squier's  bazaar,  the  same  evening,  in  crews — 
Politicians,  news-mongers,  town-council,  and  blues, 
Turks,  Heretics,  Infidels,  Jumpers,  and  Jews, 
Scorning  Bachelor's  papers,  and  Warren's  reviews : 
But  the  wind  was  then  blowing  towards  Helvoetsluys^ 
And  my  father  and  I  are  in  terrible  stews, 
For  so  large  a  balloon  is  i  sad  thing  to  lose ! " — 

Here's  news  come  at  last ! — Here's  news  come  at  last  I— 

A  vessel's  come  in  which  has  sail'd  very  fast ; 

And  a  gentleman  serving  before  the  mast, — 

Mister  Nokes — has  ^leclared,  that  "  the  party  has  past 

Safe  across  to  the  Hague,  where  their  grapnel  they  cast 

As  a  fat  burgomaster  was  staring  aghast 

To  see  such  a  monster  come  borne  on  the  blast, 

And  it  caught  in  his  waistband,  and  there  it  stuck  fasti*— 

Oh  1  fie  1  Mister  Nokes, — for  shame,  Mr.  Nokes  1 

To  be  poking  your  fun  at  us  plain-dealing  folks — 

Sir,  this  isn't  a  time  to  be  cracking  your  jokes, 

And  such  jesting  your  malice  but  scurvily  cloaks ; 

Such  a  trumpery  tale  every  one  of  us  smokes, 

And  we  know  very  well  your  whole  story's  a  hoax  1— 

**Ohl  what  shall  we  do? — Oh!  where  will  it  end? — 
Can  nobody  go  ? — Can  nobody  send 


THE    '*  M0N8TRE  "    BALLOON.  281 

To  Calais — or  Bergen-op-zootn — or  Ostend  f 

Can't  you  go  there  yourseK? —  Can't  you  write  to  a  friend, 

For  news  upon  which  we  may  safely  depend  I " — 

Huzza !  huzza !  one  and  eight-pence  to  pay 

For  a  letter  from  Hamborough,  just  come  to  say 

They  descended  at  Weilburg,  about  break  of  day ; 

And  they've  lent  them  the  palace  there,  during  their  stay, 

And  the  town  is  becoming  uncommonly  gay 

And  they're  feasting  the  party,  and  soaking  their  clay 

With  Johannisberg,  Rudesheim,  Moselle,  and  Tokay! 

And  the  Landgraves,  and  Margraves,  and  Counts  beg  and 

pray 
That  they  won't  think,  as  yet,  about  going  away; 
Notwithstanding,  they  don't  mean  to  make  much  delay 
But  pack  up  the  balloon  in  a  wagon,  or  dray, 
And  pop  themselves  into  a  German  "po-shai/" 
And  get  on  to  Paris  by  Lisle  and  Tournay ; 
Where  they  boldly  declare,  any  wager  they'll  lay 
K  the  gas  people  th».^re  do  not  ask  theiu  to  pay 
Such  a  sum  as  must  force  theui  at  once  to  say  "Nay," 
They'll  inflate  the  balloon  in  the  Champs-Elysees, 
And  be  back  again  here  the  beginning  of  May, — 
Dear  me  1  what  a  treat  for  a  Juvenile  fete  I 
What  thousands  will  flock  their  arrival  to  greet  1 
There'll  be  hardly  a  soul  to  be  seen  in  the  street^ 
For  at  Vauxhall  the  whole  population  will  meet, 
And  you'll  scarcely  get  standing-room,  much  less  a  seat, 
For  this  all  preceding  attraction  must  beat: 
Since  they'll  unfold,  what  we  want  to  be  told. 
How  they  cough'd, — how  they  sneez'd, — how  they  shiver'd 

with  cold, — 
How  they  tippled  the  "cordial "  as  racy  and  old 
As  Hodges,  or  Deady,  or  Smith  ever  sold, 
And  how  they  all  then  felt  remarkably  bold: 
How  they  thought  the  boil'd  beef  worth  its  own  weight  i> 

gold; 
And  how  Mr.  Green  was  beginuiug  to  scold 


282  iHE 

Because  Mr.  Mason  would  trj  to  lay  hold 

Of  the  moon,  and  had  verj  near  overboard  roH'd  I 

And  there  they'll  be  seen — ^they'll  be  all  to  be  seen  1 

The  great-coats,  the  cofFee-pot,  mugs,  and  tureen  I 

"With  the  tight-rope,  and  fire-works,  and  dancing  between 

If  the  weather  should  only  prove  fair  and  serene, 

And  there,  on  a  beautiful  transparent  screen. 

In  the  middle  you'll  see  a  large  picture  of  Green, 

Mr.  Hollond  on  one  side,  who  hired  the  machine, 

Mr.  Mason  on  t'other,  describing  the  scene ; 

And  Fame,  on  one  leg,  in  the  air,  like  a  queen. 

With  three  wreaths  and  a  trumpet,  will  over  them  lean 

While  Envy,  in  serpents  and  black  bombazin. 

Looks  on  from  below  with  an  air  of  chagrin  1 

Then  they'll  play  up  a  tune  in  the  Royal  Saloon, 

And  the  people  will  dance  by  the  light  of  the  moon, 

And  keep  up  the  ball  till  the  next  day  at  noon ; 

And  the  peer  and  the  peasant,  the  lord  and  the  loon 

The  haughty  grandee,  and  the  low  picaroon, 

The  six-foot  life-guardsman,  and  little  gossoon, 

Will  all  join  in  three  cheers  for  the  "  Monstre  "  Balloon. 


It  is  much  to  be  regretted  that  I  have  not  as  yet  been 
able  to  discover  more  than  a  single  specimen  of  my 
friend  "  Sucklethumbkin's  "  Muse.  The  event  it  alludes 
to,  probably  the  euthanasia  of  the  late  Mr.  Greenacre, 
will  scarcely  have  yet  faded  from  the  recollection  of  an 
admiring  public.  Although,  with  the  usual  diffidence  of 
a  man  of  fashion,  Augustus  has  "  sunk  "  the  fact  of  his 
own  presence  on  that  interesting  occasion,  I  have  every 
reason  to  believe,  that,  in  describing  the  party  at  the 
auherge  hereafter  mentioned,  he  might  have  said,  with  a 
brother  Exquisite,  "  Quorum  pars  magna  fui^ 


283 


BON.  MR.  SUCKLETHUMBKIN'S  STOKY. 


THE   EXECUTION. 

A   SPORTING    ANECDOTE. 

Mf  Lord  Tomnoddy  got  up  one  day ; 

It  was  half  after  two, 

He  had  nothing  to  do, 
So  his  Lordship  rang  for  his  cabriolet 

Tiger  Tim 

Was  clean  of  limb, 
His  boots  were  polish'd,  his  jacket  was  trim ; 
With  a  very  smart  tie  in  his  smart  cravat, 
And  a  smart  cockade  on  the  top  of  his  hat ; 
Tallest  of  boys,  or  shortest  of  men. 
He  stood  in  his  stockings  just  four  foot  ten  ; 
And  he  ask'd,  as  he  held  the  door  on  the  swing, 
"Pray,  did  your  Lordship  please  to  ring?" 

My  Lord  Tomnoddy  he  raised  his  head. 
And  thus  to  Tiger  Tim  he  said, 
"  Malibran's  dead, 
Duveraay's  fled, 
Taglioni  has  not  yet  arrived  in  her  stead; 
Tiger  Tim,  come  tell  me  true, 
What  may  a  Nobleman  find  to  doT — 


*284  HON.    MR.    SUCKLETUCMBKIN  S    STORY. 

Tim  look'd  up,  and  Tim  look'd  down, 

He  paused,  and  he  put  on  a  thoughtful  frown, 

And  he  held  up  his  hat,  and  he  peep'd  in  the  crown ; 

He  bit  his  lip,  and  he  scratch'd  his  head, 

He  let  go  the  handle,  and  thus  he  said, 

As  the  door,  released,  behind  him  bang'd : 

"A n't  please  jou,  my  Lord,  there's  a  man  to  be  hang'd." 

My  Lord  Tomnoddy  jump'd  up  at  the  news, 

"Run  to  M 'Fuze, 

And  Lieutenarit  Tregooze, 
And  run  to  Sir  Carnaby  Jenks,  of  the  Blues. 

Rope-dancers  a  rcore 

I've  seen  before — 
Madame  Sacchi,  Antonio,  and  Master  Black-more  : 

But  to  see  a  man  swing 

At  the  end  of  a  string. 
With  his  neck  in  a  noose,  will  be  quite  a  new  thing  !* 

My  Lord  Tomnoddy  stept  into  his  cab- 
Dark  rifle  green,  with  a  lining  of  drab  ; 

Through  street,  and  through  square, 

His  high-trotting  mare. 
Like  one  of  Ducrow's,  goes  pawing  the  air, 
Adown  Piccadilly  and  Waterloo  Place 
Went  the  high-trotting  mare  at  a  very  quick  pace; 

She  produced  some  alarm. 

But  did  no  great  harm, 
Save  frightening  a  nurse  with  a  child  on  her  arm, 

Spattering  with  clay 

Two  urchins  at  play, 
Knocking  down — very  much  to  the  sweeper's  dismav^   • 
An  old  woman  who  wouldn't  get  out  of  the  way, 

And  upsetting  a  stall 

Fear  Exeter  Hall, 
Which  made  all  the  pious  Church-Mission  folks  sou«U 

But  eastward  afar. 

Through  Temple  Bar, 
My  Lord  Tomnoddy  <lireets  his  car; 


THE    EXECUTION.  286 

Never  heeding  their  squalls, 
Or  their  calls,  or  their  bawls, 
He  passe*  by  Waithmaa's  Emporium  for  shawls, 
And,  merely  just  catching  a  glimpse  of  St.  Paul's, 
Turns  down  the  Old  Bailey, 
Wliere  in  front  of  the  gaol,  he 
Pulls  up  at  the  door  of  the  gin-shop,  and  gaily 
Cries,  "  What  must  I  fork  out  to-night,  ray  trump, 
For  the  whole  first-floor  of  the  Magpie  and  Stump  f 

****** 
The  clock  strikes  twelve— it  is  dark  midnight- 
Yet  the  Magpie  and  Stump  is  one  blaze  of  light 
The  parties  are  met ; 
The  tables  are  set ; 
There  is  "punch,"  "cold  mfhout,"  "hot  with,"  "heavy  wet. 
Ale-glasses  and  jugs. 
And  rummers  and  mugs. 
And  sand  on  the  floor,  without  carpets  or  rugs, 
Cold  fowl  and  cigars, 
Pickled  onions  in  jars, 
Welsh  rabbits  and  kidneys— rare  work  for  the  jaws.— 
And  very  large  lobsters,  with  very  large  claws; 
And  there  is  M'Fuze, 
And  Lieutenant  Tregooze, 
And  there  is  Sir  Carnaby  Jenks,  of  the  Blues, 

All  come  to  see  a  man  "die  in  his  shoes T 

The  clock  strikes  One  1 

Supper  is  done, 
And  Sir  Carnaby  Jenks  is  full  of  his  fun. 
Singing  "  Jolly  companions  every  one  T 

My  Lord  Tomnoddy 

Is  drinking  gin-toddy, 
And  laughing  at  eVry  thing,  and  eVry  body.— 
The  clock  strikes  Two  1  and  the  clock  strikes  Three! 
—"Who  so  merry,  so  merry  as  we  ?" 

Save  Captain  M'Fuze, 

Who  is  taking  a  snooze. 


286  HON.  MR.  sucklethumbrin's  STORT. 

While  Sir  Carnaby  Jenks  is  busy  at  work, 
Blacking  his  nose  with  a  piece  of  burnt  cork. 

The  clock  strikes  Four ! — 

Round  the  debtors'  door 
Are  gather'd  a  couple  of  thousand  or  more ; 

As  many  await 

At  the  press  yard  ga^s, 
Till  slowly  its  folding  doors  open,  and  straight 
The  mob  divides,  and  between  their  ranks 
A  waggon  comes  loaded  with  posts  and  with  planka 

The  clock  strikes  Five  1 

Tlie  Sheriffs  arrive, 
And  the  crowd  is  so  great  that  the  street  seems  alive 

But  Sir  Carnaby  Jenks 

Blinks,  and  winks, 
A  candle  burns  down  in  the  socket,  and  stinka. 

Lieutenant  Tregooze 

Is  dreaming  of  Jews, 
And  acceptances  all  the  bill-brokers  refuse ; 

My  Lord  Tomnoddy 

Has  drunk  all  his  toddy, 
And  just  as  the  dawn  is  beginning  to  peep. 
The  whole  of  the  party  are  fast  asleep. 

Sweetly,  oh !  sweetly,  the  morning  breaks^ 

With  roseate  streaks. 
Like  the  first  faint  blush  on  a  maiden's  cheeks 
Seem'd  as  that  mild  and  clear  blue  sky 
Smiled  upon  all  things  far  and  nigh, 
On  all — save  the  wretch  condemn'd  to  die 
Alack!  that  ever  so  fair  a  Sun 
As  that  which  its  course  has  now  begun. 
Should  rise  on  such  a  scene  of  misery  !— 
Should  gild  with  rays  so  light  and  free 
That  dismal,  dark-frowning  Gallows-tree  I 

And  harkl — a  sound  comes,  big  with  fate; 

The  clock  from  St.  Sepulchre's  tower  strikes — ^Eight  /- 


THE    EXECUTION.  28*? 

list  to  that  low  funereal  bell ; 
It  is  tolling,',  alas  I  a  living  man's  knell  I — 
And  see ! — from  forth  that  opening  door 
They  come — He  steps  that  threshold  o'er 
Who  never  shall  tread  upon  threshold  more } 
— God!  'tis  a  fearsome  thing  to  see 
That  pale  wan  man's  mute  agony, — 
The  glare  of  that  wild,  despairing  eye. 
Now  bent  on  the  crowd,  now  turn'd  to  the  sky, 
As  though  'twere  scanning,  in  doubt  and  in  fear, 
The  path  of  the  Spirits  unknown  career  ; 
Those  pinion'd  arms,  those  hands  that  ne'er 
Shall  be  lifted  again, — not  even  in  prayer , 
That  heaving  chest ! — Enough — 'tis  done  I 
The  bolt  has  fallen  ! — the  spirit  is  gone — 
For  weal  or  for  woe  is  known  but  to  Onel— 
—Oh!  'twas  a  fearsome  sight! — Ah  me 
A  deed  to  shudder  at, — not  to  see. 
Again  that  clock !  'tis  time,  tis  time  1 
The  hour  is  past ; — with  its  earliest  chime 
The  cord  is  severed,  the  lifeless  clay 
By  "  dungeon  villains"  is  borne  away  : 
Nine  I — 'twas  the  last  concluding  stroke  1 
And  then — my  Lord  Tomnoddy  awoke  I 
And  Tregooze  and  Sir  Carnaby  Jenks  arose, 
And  Captain  M'Fuze,  with  the  black  on  his  nose 
And  they  stared  at  each  other,  as  much  as  to  say 
"Hollo!  Hollo! 

Here's  a  rum  Go  1 
Why,  Captain  !— my  Lord  I— Here's  the  devil  to  pay 
The  fellow's  been  cut  down  and  taken  away  1 — 

What's  to  be  done? 

We've  missed  all  the  fun ! — 
Why  they'll  laugh  at  and  quiz  us  all  over  the  to\^D, 
We  are  all  of  us  done  so  uncommonly  brown  1" 

What  was  to  be  done  ? — 'twas  perfectly  plain 
That  they  could  not  well  hang  the  man  over  agaio ! 


if88  HON.   MR.    SUCKLETHUMBEI.»S   STORY. 

What  was  to  be  done? — The  man  was  dead! 
Nought  could  be  done — nought  could  be  said; 
So — ^my  Lord  Tomnoddy  went  home  to  bed  I 


The  following  communication  will  speak  for  itself: 

**  On  their  own  actions  modeat  men  are  dumb  P 


«E9 


SOME  ACCOUNT  OF  A  NEW  PLAl, 

Df   A   FAMILIAR   EPISTLE   TO    MY    BROTHER-IN-LAW,    LIEITI^ 

8EAFORTH,    H.P.    LATE   OF   THE   HON.    KLC's    2ND 

REGT.    OF   BOMBAY   FENCIBLKS. 

«  The  play's  the  thing  V^— Hamlet 

Taviatock  Hotel,  Nov.  1839. 
Dkai  Charles, 

— In  reply  to  your  letter,  and  Fanny's, 
Lord  brougham,  it  appears,  isn't  dead, — though  Queen  Anne  la 
Twas  a  "  plot  "  and  a  "  farce  " — you  hate  farces  you  say- 
Take  another  "  plot,"  then,  viz.  the  plot  of  the  Play. 
***** 
The  Countess  of  Arundel,  high  in  degree, 
As  a  lady  possess'd  of  an  earldom  in  fee, 
Was  imprudent  enough,  at  fifteen  years  of  age, 
—A  period  of  life  when  we're  not  over  sage,— 
To  form  a  liaison — in  fact,  to  engage 
Her  hand  to  a  Hop-o'-my-thumb  of  a  Page. 
This  put  her  Papa — 
She  had  no  Mamma — 
Afi  may  well  be  supposed,  in  a  deuce  of  a  rage. 

Mr.  Benjamin  Franklin  was  wont  to  repeat, 

In  his  budget  of  proverbs,  "  Stol'n  kisses  are  sweet  f  ** 

But  they  have  their  alloy — 

Fate  assumed,  to  annoy 
Miss  Arundel's  peace,  and  embitter  her  joy, 
The  equivocal  shape  of  a  fine  little  Boy 

When,  through  the  "  young  Stranger,"  her  secret  took  win<^ 
The  Old  Lord  was  neither  "  to  baud  nor  to  bind." 

FIRST    SERIES.  13 


290       SOME  ACCOUNT  OF  A  NEW  PLAF. 

He  bounced  T.p  and  down, 

And  so  fearful  a  frown 
Contracted  liis  brow,  you'd  have  thought  he'd  been  blind 

The'^oung  lady,  they  say, 

Having  fainted  away, 
Was  confined  to  her  room  for  the  whole  of  that  day; 
While  her  beau — no  rare  thing  in  the  old  feudal  system — 
Disappear'd  the  next  morning,  and  nobody  miss'd  him. 

The  fact  is,  his  Lordship,  who  hadn't,  it  seems 
Form'd  the  slightest  idea,  not  ev'n  in  his  dreams. 
That  the  pair  had  been  wedded  according  to  law, 
Conceived  that  his  daughter  had  made  a  faux  pas; 

So  he  bribed  at  a  high'  rate 

A  sort  of  a  Pirate 
To  knock  out  the  poor  dear  young  gentleman's  brains, 
And  gave  him  a  handsome  douceur  for  his  pains. 
The  page  thus  disposed  of,  his  Lordship  now  turns 
Hi**  attention  at  once  to  the  Lady's  concerns ; 

And^  alarm'd  for  the  future, 

Looks  out  for  a  suitor. 
One  not  fond  of  raking,  nor  giv'n  to  "the  pewter,'* 
But  adapted  to  act  both  the  husband  and  tutor — 
Finds  a  highly  respectable,  middle-aged  widower, 
Marries  her  off,  and  thanks  Heaven  that  he's  rid  of  her. 

Relieved  from  his  cares, 

The  old  Peer  now  prepares 
To  arrange  in  good  earnest  his  worldly  affairs  : 
Has  his  will  made  anew  by  a  Special  Attorney, 
Sickens, — takes  to  his  bed, — and  sets  out  on  his  journey. 

Which  way  he  travell'd 

Has  not  been  unravell'd ; 
To  speculate  much  on  the  point  were  too  curious, 
If  the  climate  he  reach'd  were  serene  or  sulphureous. 
To  be  sure  in  his  balance-sheet  all  must  declare 
One  item, — the  Page — was  an  awkward  affair; 
But  per  contra,  he'd  lately  endow'd  a  new  Chantry 
For  Priests,  with  ten  marks,  and  the  run  of  the  pantry. 


SOME  ACCODNT  OF  A  NEW  PLAT.        291 

Be  that  as  it  may, 

It's  sufficient  to  say- 
That  his  tomb  in  the  chancel  stands  there  to  this  day, 
Built  of  Bethersden  marble — a  dark  bluish  grey. 
The  figure,  a  fine  one  of  pure  alabaster, 
*»ome  cleanly  churchwarden  has  cover'd  with  plaster; 

While  some  Vandal  or  Jew, 
With  a  taste  for  virtu, 
Has  knock'd  off  his  toes,  to  place,  I  suppose, 
In  some  Pickwick  Museum,  with  part  of  his  nose ; 

From  his  belt  and  his  sword 

And  his  misericorde 
The  enamel's  been  chipp'd  out,  and  never  restored ; 
His  ci-git  in  old  French  is  inscribed  all  around. 
And  his  head  's  in  his  helm,  and  his  heel 's  on  his  hound 
The  palms  of  his  hands,  as  if  going  to  pray, 
Are  joined  and  upraised  o'er  his  bosom — But  stay  I 
I  forgot  that  his  tomb  's  not  described  in  the  Play. 

*  *  ^  *  it 

Lady  Arundel,  now  in  her  own  right  a  Peeress, 
Perplexes  her  noddle  with  no  such  nice  queries, 
But  produces  in  time,  to  her  husband's  great  joy. 
Another  remarkably  "fine  little  boy." 

As  novel  connections 

Oft  change  the  affections, 
And  turn  all  one's  love  into  different  directions, 
Now  to  young  "Johnny  Newcome  "  she  seems  to  confine  hers 
Neglecting  the  poor  little  dear  out  at  dry-nurse ; 

Nay,  far  worse  than  that, 

She  considers  "  the  brat " 
Ab  a  bore — fears  her  husband  may  smell  out  a  rat. 

For  her  legal  adviser 

She  takes  an  old  Miser, 
A  sort  of  "  poor  cousin."     She  might  have  been  wiser ; 

For  this  arrant  deceiver, 

By  name  Maurice  Beevor, 
A  shocking  old  scamp,  should  her  own  issue  fail. 
By  the  law  of  the  land  stands  the  next  in  entail; 


292     SOME  AccouirT  of  a  xew  play. 

So,  as  soon  as  she  ask'd  him  to  hit  on  some  plan 

To  provide  for  her  eldest,  away  the  rogue  ran 

To  that  self-same  unprincipled  sea-faring  man ; 

In  his  ear  whisper'd  low  *** — "  Bully  Gaussen"  said  "  Done  1— 

I  Burked  the  papa,  now  I'll  Bishop  the  son  I  " 

'Twas  agreed ;  and,  with  speed 

To  accomplish  the  deed. 
He  adopted  a  scheme  he  was  sure  would  succeed. 

By  long  cock-and-bull  stories 

Of  Candish  and  Noreys, 
Of  Drake,  and  bold  Raleigh,  (then  fresh  in  his  glories, 
Acquired  'mongst  the  Indians,  and  Rapparee  Tories,) 

lie  so  work'd  on  the  lad, 

Tliat  he  left,  which  was  bad, 
The  only  true  friend  in  the  world  that  he  had, 
Father  Onslow,  a  priest,  though  to  quit  him  most  lotb. 
Who  in  childhood  had  furnisli'd  his  pap  and  his  brotb, 
At  no  small  risk  of  scandal,  indeed,  to  his  cloth. 

The  kidnapping  crimp 

Took  the  foolish  young  imp 
On  board  of  his  cutter  so  trim  and  so  jimp. 
Then,  seizing  him  just  as  you'd  handle  a  shrimp, 
Twirl'd  him  thrice  in  the  air  with  a  whirligig  motion 
And  soused  him  at  once  neck  and  heels  in  the  ocean ; 

This  was  off  Plymouth  Sound,  ^ 

And  he  must  have  been  drown'd. 
For  'twas  nonsense  to  think  he  could  swim  to  dry  ground, 

If  "A  very  great  Warman, 

Call'd  Billy  the  Norman," 
Had  not  just  at  that  moment  sail'd  by,  outward  bound. 

A  shark  of  great  size. 

With  his  great  glassy  eyes, 
Sheer'd  off  as  he  came,  and  relinquish'd  the  prize ; 
So   he   pick'd   up   the  lad,*  swabbed  and  dry-rubb'd,  and 

mopp'd  him. 
And,  having  no  children,  resolved  to  adopt  him. 

•  An  incident  very  like  one  in  Jack  Shepard— 
A  work  some  have  lauded,  and  others  have  pepper'd— 


SOME  ACCOUNT  OF  A  NEW  PLAY.       2 

FuU  many  a  year 

Did  he  hand,  ree^  and  steer, 
And  by  no  means  consider'd  himself  as  small  beer, 
When  old  Norman  at  length  died  and  left  him  hia  frigate 
With  lots  of  pistoles  in  his  coft'er  to  rig  it 

A  sailor  ne'er  moans  ; 

So,  consigning  the  bones 
Of  his  friend  to  the  locker  of  one  Mr.  Jones, 

For  England  he  steers. — 

On  the  voyage  it  appears 
That  he  rescued  a  maid  from  the  Dey  of  Algiers ; 
And  at  length  reach'd  the  Sussex  coast,  where  in  a  bay 
Not  a  great  way  from  Brighton,  most  cosey-ly  lay 
His  vessel  at  anchor,  the  very  same  day 
That  the  Poet  begins, — thus  commencing  his  play : 


Giles  Gaussen  accosts  old  Sir  Maui'ice  de  Beevor, 

And  puts  the  poor  Knight  in  a  deuce  of  a  fever, 

By  saying  the  boy,  whom  he  took  out  to  please  him, 

Is  come  back  a  Captain  on  purpose  to  tease  him. — 

Sir  Maurice,  who  gladly  would  see  Mr.  Gaussen 

Breaking  stones  on  the  highway,  or  sweeping  a  crossing 

Dissembles — observes,  It's  of  no  use  to  fret, — 

And  hints  he  may  find  some  more  work  for  him  yet ; 

Then  calls  at  the  castle,  and  tells  Lady  A. 

That  the  boy  they  had  ten  years  ago  sent  away 

Is  return'd  a  grown  man,  and,  to  come  to  the  point, 

Will  put  her  son  Percy's  nose  clean  out  of  joint ; 

But  adds,  that  herself  she  no  longer  need  vex, 

If  she'll  buy  him  (Sir  Maurice)  a  farm  near  the  Ex. 

Where  a  Dutch  pirate  kidnaps,  and  tosses  Thames  Darrell 
Just  so  in  the  sea,  and  he's  saved  by  a  barrel, — 
On  the  coast,  if  I  recollect  rightly,  it's  flung  whole, 
And  the  hero,  half-drown'd,  scramhles  out  of  the  bung-holo. 
[It  aint  no  sich  thing! — the  hero  aint  bung'd  in  no  barrel  at  all. — Hell 
picked  up  by  a  Captain,  just  as  Norman  was  arterwards.— Print.  Dbv.] 


294       SOME  ACCOUNT  OF  A  NEW  PLAY. 

•*  Oh !  take  it,"  she  cries  ;  "  but  secure  every  document.'* 
**A   barg.ain,"    says   Maurice, — "inchiding   the   stock    yo« 
meant? " — 

The  Captain,  meanwhile, 

With  a  lover-like  smile, 
And  a  fine  cambric  handkerchief,  wipes  off  the  tears 
From  Miss  Violet's  eyelash,  and  hushes  her  fears. 
(That's  the  Lady  he  saved  from  the  Dey  of  Algiers.) 
Now  arises  a  delicate  point,  and  this  is  it — 
The  young  lady  herself  is  but  down  on  a  visit 

She's  perplex'd  ;  and,  in  fact, 

Does  not  know  how  to  act. 
It's  her  very  first  visit — and  then  to  begin 
By  asking  a  stranger — a  gentleman,  in — 
One  with  moustaches  too — and  a  tuft  on  his  chin — 

She  "  really  don't  know — 

He  had  much  better  go," — 
Here  the  Countess  steps  in  from  behind,  and  says  "  No  I— 
Fair  sir,  you  are  welcome.     Do,  pray,  stop  and  dine^ 
You  will  take  our  pot-luck — and  we've  decentish  wine." 
He  bows,  looks  at  Miss, — and  he  does  not  decline. 


ACT  n. 
After  dinner  the  Captain  recounts,  with  much  glee, 
All  he's  heard,  seen,  and  done  since  he  first  went  to  sea^ 

All  his  perils  and  scrapes. 

And  his  hair-breadth  escapes, 
Talks  of  boa-constrictors,  and  lions,  and  apes. 
And  fierce  "  Bengal  Tigers,"  like  that  which,  you  know. 
If  you've  ever  seen  any  respectable  "  Show," 
"  Carried  off  the  unfortunate  Mr.  Munro." 
Then,  diverging  a  while,  he  adverts  to  the  mystery 
Which  hangs,  like  a  cloud,  o'er  his  own  private  history-— 
How  he  ran  off  to  sea — how  they  set  him  afloat, 
(Not  a  word,  though,  of  barrel  or  bung-hole — See  Note) 

— How  he  happened  to  meet 

With  the  Algerine  fleet, 


SOME  ACCOUNT,  OF  A  NEW  PLAY.        296 

And  forced  them,  by  sheer  dint  of  arms,  to  retreat, 

Thus  saving  his  Violet — (One  of  his  feet 

Here  just  touch'd  her  toe,  and  she  moved  on  her  seat,)— 

How  his  vessel  was  batter'd — 

In  short,  he  so  chatter'd. 
Now  lively,  now  serious,  so  ogled  and  flatter'd. 
That  the  ladies  much  marvell'd  a  person  should  be  able 
To  "make  himself,"  both  said,   "so  very  agreeable." 

Captain  Norman's  adventures  were  scarcely  half  done 
When  Percy,  Lord  Ashdale,  her  ladyship's  son, 

In  a  terrible  fume, 

Bounces  into  the  room. 
And  talks  to  his  guest  as  you  talk'd  to  your  groom. 
Claps  his  hands  on  his  rapier,  and  swears  he'll  be  through 

him — 
The  Caotain  does  nothing  at  all  but  "  pooh  I  pooh  I  "  him. — 

Unable  to  smother 

His  hate  of  his  brother. 
He  rails  at  his  cousin,  and  blows  up  his  mother. — 
'  Fie  1  fie  1  "  says  the  first — Says  the  latter,  "  In  sooth. 
This  is  sharper  by  far  than  a  keen  serpent's  tooth  1  " 
(A  remark,  by  the  way,  which  King  Lear  had  made  yeara 

ago, 
When  he   ask'd   for   his   Knights,  and   his   Daughter  said, 
**  Here's  a  go  1  ") — 

Tliis  made  Ashdale  ashamed  ; 

But  he  must  not  be  blamed 
Too  much  for  his  warmth,  for,  like  many  young  fellowH>  I 
Was  apt  to  lose  temper  when  tortur'd  by  jealousy. 

Still  speaking  quite  gruff, 

He  goes  off  in  a  huff; 
Lady  A.,  who  is  now  what  some  call  "up  to  snuff," 

Straight  determines  to  patch 

Up  a  clandestine  match 
Brtween  the  Sea-Captain  she  dreads  like  Old  Scratch, 
And  Miss, — whom  she  does  not  think  any  great  catch 


296  SOME    ACCOUNT    OF    A    NEW    PLAT. 

For  Ashdale ; — ^besides,  he  won't  kick  up  such  shindies 
Were  she  once  fairly  married  and  off  to  the  Indies. 

ACT  m. 
Miss  Violet  takes  from  the  Countess  her  tone ; 
She  agrees  to  meet  Norman  "  by  moonlight  alone,** 
And  slip  off  to  his  bark, 
"  The  night  being  dark," 
Though  "  the  moon,"  the  Sea-Captain  says,  rises  in  Heaven 
■*  One  hour  before  midnight,"  i.  e.  at  eleven. 
From  which  speech  I  infer, 
— ^Though  perhaps  I  may  err — 
That,  though  weatherwise,  doubtless,  midst  surges  and  surt 

he 
When  "  capering  on  shore  "  was  by  no  means  a  Murphy 

He  starts  off,  however,  at  sunset,  to  reach 

An  old  chapel  in  ruins,  that  stands  on  the  beach. 

Where  the  Priest  is  to  bring,  as  he's  promised  by  letter,  • 

Paper  to  prove  his  name,  "birthright^"  <fec. 

Being  rather  too  late, 

Gaussen,  lying  in  wait^ 
Gives  poor  Father  Onslow  a  knock  on  the  pate, 
But  bolts,  seeing  Norman,  before  he  had  wrested 
From  the  hand  of  the  Priest,  as  Sir  Maurice  requested. 
The  marriage  certificate  duly  attested. — 
Norman  kneels  by  the  clergyman  fainting  and  gory. 
And  begs  he  won't  die  till  he's  told  him  his  story. 

The  Father  complies, 

Re-opens  his  eyes. 
And  tells  him  all  how  and  about  it — and  dies  I 

ACT   IV. 

Norman,  now  call'd  Le  Mesnil,  instructed  of  ill. 
Goes  back,  though  it's  getting  quite  late  for  a  call. 
Hangs  his  hat  and  his  cloak  on  a  peg  in  the  hall. 
And  tells  the  proud  Countess  it's  useless  to  swu other 
The  fact  any  longer — ^he  knows  she's  his  Mc>*herl 


SOME   ACCOUNT    OP   A   NJ:W  PLAT.  291 

His  Pa*8  wedded  Spouse, — 
She  questions  his  vovi, 
Aiid  threatens  to  have  him  turn'd  out  of  the  house- 
He  still  perseveres, 
Till  in  spite  of  her  fears, 
She  admits  he's  the  son  she  had  cast  off  for  years, 
And  he  gives  her  the  papers  all  "blister'd  with  tears,** 
When  Ashdale,  who  chances  his  nose  in  to  poke 
Takes  his  hat  and  his  cloak, 
Just  as  if  in  a  joke, 
Determined  to  put  in  his  wheel  a  new  spoke, 
And  slips  off  thus  disguised,  when  he  sees  by  the  dial  it 
*8  time  for  the  rendesvous  fixed  with  Miss  Violet.^ 
— Captain  Norman,  who,  after  all,  feels  rather  sore 
At  his  mother's  reserve,  vows  to  see  her  no  more, 
Rings  the  bell  for  the  servant  to  open  the  door, 
And  leaves  his  Mamma  in  a  fit  on  the  floor. 


Now  comes  the  catastrophe ! — Ashdale,  who's  wrapt  in 
rhe  cloak,  with  the  hat  and  the  plume  of  the  Captain, 
Leads  Violet  down  through  the  grounds  to  the  chapel 
Where  Gaussen's  conceal'd — he  springs  forward  to  grapple 
The  man  he's  erroneously  led  to  suppose 
Captain  Norman  himself,  by  the  cut  of  his  clothes. 

In  the  midst  of  their  strife 

And  just  as  the  knife 
Of  the  Pirate  is  raised  to  deprive  him  of  life. 
The  Captain  comes  forward,  drawn  there  by  the  squeab 
Of  the  Lady,  and,  knocking  Giles  head  over  heels, 

Fractures  his  "  nob," 

Saves  the  hangman  a  job, 
And  executes  justice  most  strictly,  the  rather, 
Twas  the  spot  where  that  rascal  had  murder'd  his  father. 

Then  in  comes  the  mother, 

"Who  finding  one  brother 
Had  the  instant  before  saved  the  life  of  the  other 
13* 


298       SOME  ACCOUNT  OF  A  NEW  PLAY. 

Explains  the  whole  case. 

Ashdale  puts  a  good  face 
On  the  matter ;  and,  since  he's  obliged  to  give  place, 
Yields  his  coronet  up  with  a  pretty  good  grace ; 
Norman  vows  he  won't  have  it — the  kinsmen  embrace,— 
And  the  Captain,  the  first  in  this  generous  race, 

To  remove  every  handle 

For  gossip  and  scandal, 
Sets  the  whole  of  the  papers  alight  with  the  candle ; 
An  arrangement  takes  j)lace — on  the  very  same  night,  all 
Is  settled  and  done,  and  the  points  the  most  vital 
Are,  N.  takes  the  personals ; — A.,  in  requital, 
Keeps  the  whole  real  property,  Mansion,  and  Title. — 
V.  falls  to  the  share  of  the  Captain,  and  tries  a 
Sea-voyage,  as  a  Bride,  in  the  "  Royal  Eliza." 
Both  are  pleased  with  the  part  they  acquire  as  joint  heirs, 
And  old  Maurice  Beevor  is  bundled  down  stairs  1 


The  public,  perhaps,  with  the  drama  might  quarrel 
If  deprived  of  all  epilogue,  prologue,  and  moral ; 
This  may  serve  for  all  three  then : — 

"  Young  Ladies  of  prop<  rty, 
Let  Lady  A.'s  history  serve  as  a  stopper  t'ye ; 
Don't  wed  with  low  people  beneath  your  degree, 
And  if  you've  a  baby,  don't  send  it  to  seal 

"Young  Noblemen  I  shun  every  thing  like  a  brawl ; 
And  be  sure  when  you  dine  out,  or  go  to  a  ball, 
Don't  take  the  best  hat  that  you  find  in  the  hall, 
And  leave  one  m  its  stead  that's  worth  nothing  at  all ! 

"Old  Knights,  don't  give  bribes! — above  all,  never  urge  a  man 
To  steal  people's  things,  or  to  stick  an  old  Clergyman' 

"And  you,  ye  Sea-Captains!  wJio've  nothing  to  Jo 


SOME    ACCOUNT    OP   A    NEW   PLAY.  299 

But  to  run  round  the  world,  hght,  and  drink  till  all's  blue. 

And  tell  us  tough  yarns,  and  then  swear  they  are  true, 

Reflect,  notwithstanding  your  sea-faring  life, 

That  you  can't  get  on  well  long,  without  you've  a  wife; 

So  get  one  at  once,  treat  her  kindly  and  gently, 

Write  a  Nautical  novel, — and  send  it  to  Bentley  * 


300 


Ii  has  been  already  hinted  that  Mr.  Peters  had  been  a 
•*  traveller  "  in  his  day.  The  only  story  which  his  lady 
would  ever  allow  "  her  P."  to  finish — he  began  as  many 
as  would  furnish  an  additional  volume  to  the  "  Thou- 
sand and  One  Nights  " — is  the  last  I  shall  offer.  The 
subject,  I  fear  me,  is  not  over  new,  but  will  remind  my 
friends 

'^Or  lomething  better  tbey  have  seen  before.'* 


801 


MR.  PETERS'S  STORY. 


THE    bagman's    dog. 
Stant  littore  Puppiea  I— Vi»«iL. 

It  was  a  litter,  a  litter  of  fire, 

Four  are  drowned  and  one  left  alive, 

He  was  thought  worthy  alone  to  survive , 

And  the  Bagman  resolved  upon  bringing  him  up, 

To  eat  of  his  bread,  and  to  drink  of  his  cup, 

He  was  such  a  dear  little  cock-tail'd  pup  I 

The  Bagman  taught  him  many  a  trick ; 

He  would  carry,  and  fetch,  and  run  after  a  stick, 

Could  well  understand 

The  word  of  command. 

And  appear  to  doze 

With  a  crust  on  his  nose 
Till  the  Bagman  permissively  waved  his  hand : 
Then  to  throw  up  and  catch  it  he  never  would  fail, 
As  he  sat  up  on  end,  on  his  little  cock-tail. 
Never  was  puppy  so  bien  instruit, 
Or  possess'd  of  such  natural  talent  as  he  ; 

And  as  he  grew  older, 

Every  beholder 
Agreed  he  grew  handsomer,  sleeker,  and  bolder. — 

Time,  however  his  wheels  we  may  clog, 

"Wends  steadily  still  with  onward  jog. 

And  the  cock'd-tail'd  puppy's  a  curly-tail'd  dog 


802  MR.    PBIKRS'S    STORY. 

When,  just  at  the  time 

He  was  reaching  his  prime, 
And  all  thought  he'd  be  turning  out  something  sublim^ 

One  unlucky  day, 

How,  no  one  could  say, 
Whether  some  noft  liaison  induced  him  to  etray, 
Or  some  kidnappmg  vagabond  coax'd  hliii  away, 

He  was  lost  to  the  view, 

Like  the  morning  dew ; — 
He  had  been,  and  was  not — that's  all  that  they  knew  I 
And  the  Bagman  storm'd,  and  the  Bagman  swore 
As  never  a  Bagman  had  sworn  before ; 
But  storming  or  swearing  but  little  avails 
To  recover  lost  dogs  with  great  curly  tails. — 

lu  a  large  paved  court,  close  by  Billiter  Square, 
Stands  a  mansion,  old,  but  in  thorough  Vepair, 
The  only  thing  strange,  from  the  general  air 
Of  its  size  and  appearance,  is  how  it  got  there ; 
In  front  is  a  short  semicircular  stair 

Of  stone  steps, — some  half  score, — 

Then  you  reach  the  ground  floor. 
With  a  shell -pattern'd  architrave  over  the  door. 
It  is  spacious,  and  seems  to  be  built  on  the  plan 
Of  a  Gentleman's  house  in  the  reign  of  Queen  Anne; 

Which  is  odd,  for,  although, 

As  we  very  well  know. 
Under  Tndors  and  Stuarts  the  City  could  show 
Many  Noblemen's  seats  above  Bridge  and  below. 
Yet  that  fashion  soon  after  induced  them  to  go 
From  St  Michael  Cornhill,  and  St.  Mary-le-Bow, 
To  St.  James,  and  St.  George,  and  St.  Anne  in  Soha— 
Be  this  as  it  may, — at  the  date  I  assign 
To  my  tale, — that's  about  Seventeen  Sixty  Nine, — 
This  mansion,  now  rather  upon  the  decline. 
Had  less  dignified  owners, — belonging  in  fine. 
To  Turner,  Dry,  Weipersyde,  Rogers,  and  Pyne— > 
A  respectable  House  in  the  Manchester  line. 


THE    BAGMAN*S   DOO.  303 

There  were  a  score 

Of  Bagraen,  and  more. 
Who  had  travell'd  full  oft  for  the  firm  before  ; 
But  just  at  this  period  they  wanted  to  send 
Some  person  on  whom  they  could  safely  depend — 
A  trustworthy  body,  half  agent,  half  friend — 
On  some  mercantile  matter  as  far  as  Ostend  ; 
And  the  person  they  pitch'd  on  v  as  Anthony  Blogg, 
A  grave,  steady  man,  not  addicted  to  grog, — 
Tlie  Bagman,  in  short,  who  had  lost  this  great  dog. 
***** 
"  The  Sea  1  the  Sea  1  the  open  Sea  !— 
That  is  the  place  where  we  ail  wish  to  be, 
Rolling  about  on  it  merrily  I  " — 

So  all  sing  and  say 

By  night  and  by  day. 
In  the  hovdoir,  the  street,  at  the  concert,  and  play, 
In  a  sort  of  coxcombical  roundelay  ; — 
You  may  roam  through  the  City,  ti-ansversely  or  straight, 
from  \Vhitechapel  turnpike  to  Cuniberland  gate, 
And  every  young  Lady  who  thrums  a  guitar, 
Ev'ry  raustachio'd  Shopman  who  smokes  a  cigar, 

With  affected  devotion. 

Promulgates  his  notion, 
Of  being  a  "  Rover  "  and  "  child  of  the  Ocean  " — 
Whate'er  their  age,  sex,  or  condition  may  be. 
They  all  of  them  long  for  the  "  Wide,  Wide  Sea  1 " 

But  however  they  dote. 

Only  set  them  afloat 
In  any  craft  bigger  at  all  than  a  boat, 

Take  them  down  to  the  Nore, 

And  you'll  see  that,  before 
The  "  Wessel  "  they  "  Woyage  "  in  has  made  half  her  way 
Between  Shell-Xess  Point  a"d  the  pier  at  Heme  Bay, 
Let  the  wind  meet  the  tide  in  the  slightest  degree. 
They'll  be  all  of  them  heartily  siok  of  "  the  Sea  I  " 


304  MR.    PETERS'S    STORY. 

I've  stood  in  Margate,  on  a  bridge  of  size 
Inferior  far  to  that  described  bj  Byron, 

"Wliere  "  palaces  and  pris'ns  on  each  hand  rise, — " 
— That  too's  a  stone  one,  this  is  made  of  iron — 
And  little  donkey-boys  your  steps  environ, 

Each  proffering  for  your  choice  his  tiny  hack, 

Vaunting  its  excellence ;  and,  should  you  hire  one, 

For  sixpence,  will  he  urge,  with  frequent  thwack, 

The  much-enduring  beast  to  Buenos  Ayres — and  back. 


And  there,  on  many  a  raw  and  gusty  day, 

I've  stood,  and  turn'd  my  gaze  upon  the  pier, 
And  seen  the  crews,  that  did  embark  so  gay 
That  self  same  morn,  now  disembark  so  queer , 
Then  to  myself  I've  sigh'd  and  said,  "  Oh  dear ! 
Who  would  believe  yon  sickly-looking  man's  a 

London  Jack  Tar, — a  Clieapside  Buccaneer ! — " 
But  hold,  my  Muse  1 — for  this  terrific  stanza 
Is  all  too  stiffly  grand  for  our  Extravaganza. 

*  *  *  *  « 

"So  now  we'll  go  up,  up,  up. 

And  now  we'll  go  down,  down,  down, 
And  now  we'll  go  backwards  and  forwards, 
And  now  we'll  go  roun',  roun',  roun'." — 
— I  hope  you've  sufficient  discernment  to  see, 
Gentle  Reader,  that  here  the  discarding  the  d 
Is  a  fault  which  you  must  not  attribute  to  me ; 
Thus  my  Nurse  cut  it  off,  when,  "  with  counterfeit  glee," 
She  sung,  as  she  danced  me  about  on  her  knee, 
In  the  year  of  our  Lord  eighteen  hundred  and  three  :— 
All  I  mean  to  say  is,  that  the  Muse  is  now  free 
From  the  self-imposed  trammels  put  on  by  her  betters, 
And  no  longer  like  Filch,  midst  the  felons  and  debtors 
At  Drury  Lane,  dances  her  hornpipe  in  fetters. 
Resuming  her  track, 
At  once  she  goes  back 
To  our  hero,  the  Bagman — Alas  1  and  Alack  I 


THE  bagman's  dog.  305 

Poor  Anthony  Blogg 

Is  as  sick  as  a  dog, 
3pite  of  sundry  unwonted  potations  of  grog, 
By  the  time  the  Dutch  packet  is  fairly  at  sea, 
With  the  sands  called  the  Goodwin's  a  league  on  her  Ue. 

And  now,  my  good  friends,  I've  a  fine  opportunity 
To  obfuscate  you  all  by  sea  terms  with  impunity. 

And  talking  of  "  caulking," 

And  "  quarter-deck  walking," 

"Fore  and  aft," 

And  "abaft," 
•'Hookers,"  "barkeys,"  and  "craft," 
(At  which  Mr.  Poole  has  so  wickedly  laught,) 
Of  binnacles, — bilboes, — the  boom  call'd  the  spanker,— 
Thfc  best  bower  cable, — the  jib, — and  sheet  anchor ; 
Of  lower-deck  guns, — and  of  broadsides  and  chases. 
Of  tafFrails  and  topsails,  and  splicing  main-braces. 
And  "  Shiver  my  timbers !  "  and  other  odd  phrases 
Employ'd  by  old  pilots  with  hard-featured  faces ; — 
Of  the  expletives  seafaring  Gentlemen  use. 
The  allusions  they  make  to  the  eyes  of  their  crews; 

How  the  Sailors,  too,  swear. 

How  they  cherish  their  hair. 
And  what  very  long  pigtails  a  great  many  wear. — 
But,  Reader,  I  scorn  it — the  fact  is,  I  fear, 
To  be  candid,  I  can't  make  these  matters  so  clear 
As  Marryat,  or  Cooper,  or  Captain  Chamier, 
Or  Sir  E.  I.ytton  Bulwer,  who  brought  up  the  rear 
Of  the  "Nauticals,"  just  at  the  end  of  the  year 
Eighteen  thirty-nine — (how  Time  flies! — Oh,  dearl) — 
With  a  well  written  preface  to  make  it  appear 
That  his  play,  the  "  Sea-Captain,"  's  by  no  means  small  beer 
There  1 — "  brought  up  the  rear  " — ^you  see  there's  a  mistake 
Which  none  of  the  authors  I've  mentioned  would  make, 
I  ought  to  have  said,  that  he  "  sail'd  in  their  wake." — 
So  I'll  merely  observe,  as  the  water  grew  rougher 
The  more  my  poor  hero  continued  to  suflfer. 
Till  the  Sailors  themselves  cried,  in  phy    "Poor  Buffer!'*' 


306  MR.    PETERS'S    STOKF. 

Still  rougher  it  grew, 

And  still  harder  it  blew, 
And  the  thunder  kick'd  up  such  a  halliballoo, 
That  even  the  Skipper  began  to  look  blue ; 

While  the  crew,  who  were  few, 

Look'd  very  queer,  too. 
And  seem'd  not  to  know  what  exactly  to  do, 
And  they  who'd  the  charge  of  them  wrote  in  the  logs, 
•'Wind  jN\  E. — blows  a  hurricane — rains  cats  and  dogs." 
In  short  it  soon  grew  to  a  tempest  as  rude  as 
That  Shakspeare  describes  near  the  "still  vext  Bermudas,"*" 

When  the  winds,  in  their  sport. 

Drove  aside  from  its  port 
The  King's  ship,  with  the  whole  Neapolitan  Court, 
And  swamp'd  it  to  give  "the  King's  Son,  Ferdinand,"  a 
Soft  moment  or  two  v/ith  the  La<iy  Miranda, 
"While  her  Pa  met  the  rest,  and  severely  rebuked  'em 
For  unhandsomely  doing  him  out  of  his  Dukedom. 
You  don't  want  me,  however,  to  paint  you  a  Storm, 
As  so  many  have  done,  and  in  colours  so  warm  ; 
Lord  Byron,  for  instance,  in  manner  facetious, 
Mr.  Ainsworth  more  gravely, — see  also  Lucretius, 
— A  writer  who  gave  me  no  trifling  vexation 
When  a  youngster  at  school  on  Dean  Colet's  foundatioa  — 

SuflBce  it  to  say 

That  the  whole  of  that  day. 
And  the  next,  and  the  next,  they  "were  scudding  away 

Quite  out  of  their  course, 

Propell'd  by  the  force 
Of  those  flatulent  folks  known  in  Classical  story  as 
Aquilo,  Libs,  Notus,  Auster,  and  Boreas, 

Driven  quite  at  their  mercy 

'Twixt  Guernsey  and  Jersiey, 
Till   at   length   they   came   bump   on   the   rocks    and    Ube 

shallows 
In  West  longitude.  One,  fifty  seven,  near  St  Maloes ; 

*  See  Appendix. 


THE  bagman's  dog.  307 

There  jou  will  not  be  surprised 

That  the  vessel  capsized. 
Or  that  Blogg,  who  had  made,  from  intestine  commotiona, 
His  specifical  gravity  less  than  the  Ocean's, 

Should  go  floating  away, 

Midst  the  surges  and  spray. 
Like  a  cork  in  a  gutter,  which,  swoln  by  a  shower, 
Runs  down  Holborn-hill  about  nine  knots  an  hour. 

You've  seen,  I've  no  doubt,  at  Bartholomew  fair. 
Gentle  Reader, — that  is,  if  you've  ever  been  there, — 
With  their  hands  tied  behind  them,  some  two  or  three  pair 
Of  boys  round  a  bucket  set  up  on  a  chair, 

Skipping,  and  dipping 

Eyes,  nose,  chin,  and  lip  in. 
Their  faces  and  hair  with  the  water  all  dripping. 
In  an  anxious  attempt  to  catch  hold  of  a  pippin. 
That  bobs  up  and  down  in  the  water  whenever 
They  touch  it,  as  mocking  the  fruitless  endeavour ; 
Exactly  as  Poets  say, — how,  though,  they  can't  tell  us, — 
Old  Nick's  Nonpareils  play  at  bob  with  poor  Tantalus. 

— Stay  ! — I'm  not  clear. 

But  I'm  rather  out  here ; 
•Twas  the  water  itself  that  slipp'd  from  him,  I  f<.ar ; 
Faith,  I  can't  recollect — and  I  haven't  Lempriere. — 
No  matter, — poor  Blogg  went  on  ducking  and  bobbing, 
Sneezing  out  the  salt-^ater,  and  gulping  and  sobbing, 
Just  as  Clarence,  in  Shakspeare,  describes  all  the  qualms  he 
Experienced  while  dreaming  they'd  drown'd  him  in  Malmsey 

*'  0  Lord,"  he  thought,  "  what  pain  it  was  to  drown  !  " 
And  saw  great  fishes  with  great  goggling  eyes, 

Glaring  as  he  was  bobbing  up  and  down, 
And  looking  as  they  thought  him  quite  a  prize ; 

When,  as  he  sank,  and  all  was  growing  dark, 

A  something  seized  him  with  its  jaws  I — ^A  shark  ?— 

No  such  thing,  Reader  : — most  opportunely  for  Blogg, 
TSd  as  a  very  large,  web-footed,  curly-tail'd  Dog 

***** 


308  MR.    PETERS  S    STORY. 

I'm  not  much  of  a  traveller,  and  really  can't  boast 
That  I  know  a  great  deal  of  the  Brittany  coast, 

But  I've  often  heard  say 

That  e'en  to  this  day, 
The  people  of  Granville,  St  Maloes,  and  thereabout 
Are  a  class  that  society  doesn't  much  care  about ; 
Men  who  gain  their  subsistence  by  contraband  dealing, 
And  a  mode  of  abstraction  strict  people  call  "  stealing ;" 
Notwithstanding  all  which,  they  are  civil  of  speech, 
Above  all  to  a  stranger  who  comes  within  reach ; 

And  they  were  so  to  Blogg, 

When  the  curly-tail'd  Dog 
At  last  dragg'd  liim  out,  high  and  dry  on  the  beach. 

But  we  all  have  been  told. 

By  the  proverb  of  old. 
By  no  means  to  think  "  all  that  glitters  is  gold  ;" 

And,  in  fact,  some  advance 

That  most  people  in  France 
Join  the  manners  and  air  of  a  Maitre  de  Danse, 
To  the  morals — (as  Johnson  of  Chesterfield  said}^ 
Of  an  elderly  Lady,  in  Babylon  bred. 
Much  addicted  to  flirting,  and  dressing  in  red, — 

Be  this  as  it  might 

It  embarrassed  Blogg  quite 
To  find  those  about  him  so  very  polite. 

A  suspicious  observer  perhaps  might  have  traced 
The  peiites  soins,  tender'd  with  so  much  good  taste. 
To  the  sight  of  an  old-fashioned  pocket-book,  placed 
In  a  black  leather  belt  well  secured  round  his  waist 
And  a  ring  set  with  diamonds,  his  finger  that  graced, 
So  brilliant  no  one  could  have  guess'd  they  were  paste 

Tlie  group  on  the  shore 

Consisted  of  four ; 
You  will  wonder,  perhaps,  there  were  not  a  few  more; 
But  the  fact  is  they've  not,  in  that  part  of  the  nation. 
What  Malthus  would  term,  a  "  too  dense  populatioa" 
Indeed  the  sole  sign  there  of  man's  habitation 


THE  bagman's  dog.  309 

"Was  merely  a  single 

Rudt  hut,  in  a  dingle 
Tliat  led  away  inland  direct  from  the  shingle. 
Its  sides  clothed  with  underwood,  gloomy  and  dark, 
Some  two  hundred  yards  above  high- water  mark ; 

And  thither  the  party, 

So  cordial  and  hearty, 
Viz.  an  old  man,  his  wife,  and  two  lads  made  a  start,  ho 

The  Bagman  proceeding. 

With  equal  good  breeding. 
To  express,  in  indifferent  French,  all  he  feels. 
The  great  curly-tail'd  Dog  keeping  close  to  his  heels. — 
They  soon  reach'd  the  hut,  which  seem'd  partly  in  ruin, 
All  the  way  bowing,  chattering,  shrugging,  Mon^Dieti^ing^ 
Grimacing,  and  what  sailors  call  parley-vooing, 
***** 
Is  it  Paris,  or  Kitchener,  Reader,  exhorts 
You,  whenever  your  stomach's  at  all  out  of  sorts, 
To  try,  if  you  find  richer  viands  won't  stop  in  it, 
A  basin  of  good  mutton  broth  with  a  chop  in  it? 
(Such  a  basin  and  chop  as  I  once  heard  a  witty  one 
Call,  at  the  Garrick,  "  a  c — d  Committee  one," 
An  expression,  I  own,  I  do  not  think  a  pretty  one,) 

However,  it's  clear 

That,  with  sound  table  beer. 
Such  a  mess  as  I  speak  off  is  very  good  cheer; 

Especially  too 

When  a  person's  wet  through. 
And  is  hungry,  and  tired,  and  don't  know  what  to  da 
Kow  just  such  a  mess  of  delicious  hot  pottage 
Was  smoking  away  when  they  enter'd  the  cottage, 
And  casting  a  truly  delicious  perfume 
Through  the  whole  of  an  ugly,  old,  ill-furnish'd  room ; 
"  Hot,  smoking  hot," 

On  the  fire  was  a  pot 
Well  replenish'd,  but  really  I  can't  say  with  what ; 
For,  famed  as  the  French  always  are  for  ragouts. 
No  creature  can  tell  what  they  put  in  their  stews. 
Whether  bull-frogs,  old  gloves,  or  old  wigs,  or  old  aLoAk; 


310  MR.    PETERS'S    STORY. 

Notwithstanding,  when  offer'd  I  rarely  refuse, 
Any  more  than  poor  Blogg  did,  when,  seeing  the  reeky 
Repast  placed  before  him,  scarce  able  to  speak,  he 
In  ecstasy  mutter'd  "By  Jove,  Cocky-leeky  1 " 
In  an  instant,  as  soon 
As  they  gave  him  a  spoon, 
Every  feeling  and  faculty  bent  on  the  gruel,  he 
No  more  blamed  Fortune  for  treating  him  cruelly, 
But  fell  tooth  and  nail  on  the  soup  and  the  bmiilli. 

***** 
Meanwhile  that  old  man  standing  by. 
Subducted  his  long  coat-tails  on  high, 
With  his  back  to  the  fire,  as  if  to  dry 
A  part  of  his  dress  which  the  watery  sky 
Had  visited  rather  inclemently. — 
Blandly  he  smil'd,  but  still  he  look'd  sly, 
And  a  something  sinister  lurk'd  in  his  eye. 
Indeed,  had  you  seen  him  his  maritime  dress  in. 
You'd  have  own'd  his  appearance  was  not  prepossessing 
He'd  a  "dreadnought"  coat,  and  heavy  sabots 
With  thick  wooden  soles  turn'd  up  at  the  toes. 
His  nether  man  cased  in  a  striped  guelque  chose, 
And  a  hump  on  his  back,  and  a  great  hook'd  nose, 
So  that  nine  out  of  ten  would  be  led  to  suppose 
That  the  person  before  them  was  Punch  in  plain  clothes 

Yet  still,  as  I  told  you,  he  smiled  on  all  present, 
And  did  all  that  lay  in  his  power  to  look  pleasant. 

The  old  woman,  too, 

Made  a  mighty  ado. 
Helping  her  guest  to  a  deal  of  the  stew ; 
She  fish'd  up  the  meat,  and  she  help'd  him  to  that> 
She  help'd  him  to  lean,  and  she  help'd  him  to  fat, 
And  it  look'd  like  Hare— but  it  might  have  been  Cat 

The  little  garcons,  too,  strove  to  express 

Their  sympathy  towards  the  "  Child  of  distress  ** 

With  a  great  deal  of  juvenile  YTeuah  politesse ; 


THE    BAGMAN  S    DOQ.  311 

But  the  Bagman  bluff 

Continued  to  "stuflf" 
Of  the  fat,  and  the  lean,  and  the  tender  and  tough. 
Till  thej  thought  he  would  never  cry  "Hold,  enough  1" 
And  the  old  woman's  tones  became  far  less  agreeable^ 
Sounding  like  peste  !  and  sacre !  and  diable ! 

I  Ve  seen  an  old  saw,  which  is  well  worth  repeating; 
That  says, 

"  (Gtooli  ^■s.im.%t 

You'll  find  it  so  printed  by  ^aiton,  or  SSjnkjjll, 
And  a  very  good  proverb  it  is  to  my  thinking. 

Blogg  thought  so  too ; — 

As  he  finish'd  his  stew, 
His  ear  caught  the  sound  of  the  word  "  Morbleu  1 " 
Pronounced  by  the  old  woman  under  her  breath. 
Kow,  not  knowing  what  she  could  mean  by  "  Blue  Death  1* 
He  conceived  she  referr'd  to  a  delicate  brewing 
"SThich  is  almost  synonymous, — namely,  "Blue  Ruia" 
So  he  pursed  up  his  lip  to  a  smile,  and  with  glee, 
In  his  cocknef/d  accent,  responded  "  Oh,  Vee ! " 

Which  made  her  understand  he 

Was  asking  for  brandy ; 
So  she  turn'd  to  the  cupboard,  and,  having  some  handy, 
Produced,  rightly  deeming  he  would  not  object  to  it. 
An  orbicidar  bulb  with  a  very  long  neck  to  it; 
In  fact  you  perceive  her  mistake  was  the  same  as  his. 
Each  of  them  "  reasoning  right  from  ^vrong  premises ; " — 

— And  here  by  the  way, 

Allow  me  to  say. 
Kind  Reader,  you  sometimes  permit  me  to  stray — 
Tis  strange  the  French  prove,  when  they  take  to  aspersing 
So  inferior  to  us  in  the  science  of  cursing: 

Kick  a  Frenchman  down  stairs, 

How  absurdly  he  swears  1 
And  how  odd  'tis  to  hear  him,  when  beat  to  a  jelly. 
Roar  out  in  a  passion,  "Blue  Death! "  and  "Blue  Belly  I 


312  MR.    PETERS'S    STORY. 

"To  return  to  our  sheep"  from  this  little  digression:— 

Blogg's  features  assumed  a  complacent  expression 

As  he  emptied  his  glass,  and  she  gave  him  a  fresh  one; 

Too  little  he  heeded 

How  fast  they  succeeded, 
Perhaps  you  or  I  might  have  done,  though,  as  he  did ; 
For  when  once  Madam  Fortune  deals  out  her  hard  rapa> 

It's  amazing  to  think 

How  one  "  cottons  "  to  Drink  1 
At  such  times,  of  all  things  in  nature  perhaps, 
There's  not  one  that  is  half  so  seducing  as  Schnapi. 

Mr.  Blogg,  beside  being  uncommonly  dry. 
Was,  like  most  other  Bagmen,  remarkably  shy, 

—  "  Did  not  like  to  deny  " — 

"  Felt  obliged  to  comply  " 
Every  time  that  she  ask'd  him  to  "  wet  t'other  eye ; " 
For  'twas  worthy  remark  that  she  spared  not  the  stoup, 
Though  before  she  had  seem'd  so  to  grudge  him  the  soup 

At  length  the  fumes  rose 

To  his  brain ;  and  his  nose 
Gave  hints  of  a  strong  disposition  to  doze, 
And  a  yearning  to  seek  "horizontal  repose." — 

His  queer-looking  host, 

Who,  firm  at  his  post, 
During  all  the  long  meal  had  continued  to  toast 

That  garment  'twere  rude  to 

Do  more  than  allude  to. 
Perceived,  from  his  breathing  and  nodding,  the  views 
Of  his  guest  were  directed  to  "  taking  a  snooze : " 
So  he  caught  up  a  lamp  in  his  huge  dirty  paw, 
With  (as  Blogg  used  to  tell  it)  "Ifounseer,  swivvy  maw!* 

And  "  marshall'd  "  him  so 

"The  way  he  should  go," 
Upstairs  to  an  attic,  large,  gloomy,  and  low, 

Without  table  or  chair, 

Or  a  moveable  there. 
Save  an  old-fashion'd  bedstead,  much  out  of  repair, 
That  etood  at  the  end  most  remov'd  from  the  stair.— 


THE    BAOMANS    DOG. 


315 


"With  a  grin  and  a  shrug 

The  host  points  to  the  rug, 
Just  as  mv;ch  as  to  say,  "There! — I  think  you  *U  be  snog 

Puts  the  light  on  the  floor, 

Walks  to  the  door, 
Makes  a  formal  Salaam,  and  is  then  seen  no  more ; 
When  just  as  the  ear  lost  the  sound  of  his  tread. 
To  the  Bagman's  surprise,  and,  at  first,  to  his  dread. 
The  great  curly-tail'd  Dog  crept  from  under  the  bed  I — 

— It's  a  very  nice  thing  when  a  man's  in  a  fright, 
And  thinks  matters  all  wrong,  to  find  matters  all  right ; 
As,  for  instance,  when  going  home  late-ish  at  night 
Through  a  Churchyard,  and  seeing  a  thing  all  in  white, 
Which,  of  course,  one  is  led  to  consider  a  Sprite, 

To  find  that  the  Ghost 

Is  merely  a  post, 
Or  a  miller,  or  chalky-faced  donkey  at  most ; 
Or,  when  taking  a  walk  as  the  evenings  begin 
To  close,  or,  as  some  people  call  it,  "draw  in," 
And  some  undefined  form,    "  looming  large  "   through 

haze. 
Presents  itself,  right  in  your  path,  to  your  gaze, 

Inducing  a  dread 

Of  a  knock  on  the  head. 
Or  a  sever'd  carotid,  to  find  that,  instead 
Of  one  of  those  rufilans  who  murder  and  fleece  men 
It's  your  uncle,  or  one  of  the  "  Rural  Policemen ; " — 

Then  tho  blood  flows  again 

Through  artery  and  vein  : 
You're  delighted  with  what  just  before  gave  you  pain  , 
You  laugh  at  your  fears — and  your  friend  in  the  fog 
Meets  a  welcome  as  cordial  as  Anthony  Blogg 
Now  bestow'd  on  his  friend — the  great  curly-tailed  Dog 


For  the  Dog  leap'd  up,  and  his  paws  found  a  place 
On  each  side  his  neck  in  a  canine  embrace. 
And  he  lick'd  Blogg's  hands,  and  he  lick'd  his  faoe, 
FIRST    SERIES.  14 


314  MR.    PETERS'S    STORY. 

And  ho  waggled  his  tail  as  much  as  to  say 
*  Mr.  Blogg,  we've  foregather'd  before  to-day  I  ** 
And  the  Bagman  saw,  as  he  now  sprang  up, 

What,  beyond  all  doubt, 

He  might  have  found  out 
Before,  had  he  not  been  so  eager  to  sup, 
*Twas  Sancho ! — the  Dog  he  had  reared  from  a  pup  — 
The  Dog  who  when  sinking  had  seized  his  hair, — 
The  Dog  who  had  saved,  and  conducted  him  there, — 
The  Dog  he  had  lost  out  of  Billiter  Square  1 ! 

It's  passing  sweet, 

An  absolute  treat. 
When  friends,  long  sever'd  by  distance,  meet, — 
With  what  warmth  and  affection  each  other  they  grid 
Especially  too,  as  we  very  well  know. 
If  there  seems  any  chance  of  a  little  cadeau, 
A  "  Present  from  Brighton,"  or  "  Token,"  to  show, 
In  the  shape  of  a  work-box,  ring,  bracelet,  or  so. 
That  our  friends  don't  forget  us,  although  they  may  go 
To  Ramsgate,  or  Rome,  or  Fernando  Po. 
If  some  little  advantage  seems  likely  to  start, 
From  a  fifty-pound  note  to  a  two-penny  tart, 
It's  surprising  to  see  how  it  softens  the  heart. 
And   you'll   find   those   whose   hopes   from   the   other   af« 

strongest, 
Use,  in  common,  endearments  the  thickest  and  longest* 

But,  it  was  not  so  here ; 

For,  although  it  is  clear, 
Wher  abroad,  and  we  have  not  a  single  friend  near. 
E'en  a  eur  that  will  love  us  becomes  very  dear. 
And  the  balance  of  interest  'twixt  him  and  the  Dog 
Of  course  was  inclining  to  Anthony  Blogg, 

Yet  he,  first  of  all,  ceased 

To  encourage  the  beast, 
Perhaps  thinking  "  Enough  is  a  good  as  a  feast ;  ** 
And  besides,  as  we've  said,  being  sleepy  and  mellow, 
He  grew  tired  of  patting,  and  crying  "Poor  fellow   * 


THE  bagman's  dog.  316 

So  his  smile  by  degrees  harden'd  into  a  frown. 

And  his  "  Tliat's  a  good  dog  1  "  into  '*  Down,  Sanchol  down!* 

But  nothing  could  stop  his  mute  fav'riie's  caressing, 
Who,  in  fact,  seem'd  resolved  to  prevent  his  undressing, 

Using  paws,  tail,  and  head, 

As  if  he  had  said, 
"Most  beloved  of  masters,  pray,  don't  go  to  bed  ; 
You  had  much  better  sit  up,  and  pat  me  instead  I  " 
Nay,  at  last,  when  determined  to  take  some  repose, 
Blogg  threw  himself  down  on  the  outside  the  clothes, 

Spite  of  all  he  could  do. 

The  Dog  jump'd  up  too, 
And  kept  him  awake  with  his  very  cold  nose ; 

Scratching  and  whining. 

And  moaning  and  pining. 
Till  Blogg  really  believed  he  must  have  some  design  in 
Thus  breaking  his  rest ;  above  all,  when  at  length 
Tlie  dog  scratch'd  him  off  from  the  bed  by  sheer  strength 

Kvtremely  annoy'd  by  the  "tarnation  whop,"  as  it 
's  call'd  in  Kentuek,  on  its  head  and  its  opposite, 

Blogg  show'd  fight; 

When  he  saw,  by  the  light 
Of  the  flickering  candle,  that  had  not  yet  quite 
Burnt  down  in  the  socket,  though  not  over  bright, 
Certain  dark-colour'd  stains,  as  of  blood  newly  spilt, 
Reveal'd  by  the  dog's  having  scratched  off  the  quilt 
Which  hinted  a  story  of  horror  and  guilt  1 — 

'Twas  "  no  mistake," — 

He  was  "  wide  awake  " 
In  an  instant ;  for,  when  only  decently  drunk. 
Nothing  sobers  a  man  so  completely  as  "  funk." 

And  hark ! — what's  that ! — 
Tliey  have  got  jnto  chat 
In  the  kitchen  below — what  the  deuce  are  they  at  -• 


816  MR.    FBTERS'S    STORY. 

There's  the  ugly  old  Fisherman  scolding  his  wife — 
And  she  1 — by  the  Pope !  she's  whetting  a  knife  1 — 

At  each  twist 

Of  her  wrist, 
And  her  great  mutton  fist, 
The  edge  of  the  weapon  sounds  shriller  and  louder  I — 

The  fierce  kitchen  fire 

Had  not  made  Blogg  perspire 
Half  so  much,  or  a  dose  of  the  best  James's  powder. — 
It  ceases — all's  silent  1 — and  now,  I  declare 
There's  somebody  crawls  up  that  rickety  stair. 

*  *  *  *  « 

The  horrid  old  ruffian  comes,  eat-like,  creeping; — 
He  opens  the  door  just  sufficient  to  peep  in, 
And  sees,  as  he  fancies,  the  Bagman  sleeping  I 
For  Blogg,  when  he'd  once  ascertain'd  that  there  was  some 
"Precious  mischief"  on  foot  had  resolv'd  to  play  'Possum ;  — 

Down  he  went,  legs  and  head, 

Flat  on  the  bed, 
Apparently  sleeping  as  sound  as  the  dead  ; 
While,  though  none  who  look'd  at  him  would  think  such  fl 

thing, 
Every  nerve  in  his  frame  was  braced  up  for  a  spring. 

Then,  just  as  the  villain 

Crept,  stealthily  still,  in. 
And  you'd  not  have  in^ur'd  his  guest's  life  for  a  shilling. 
As  the  knife  gleam'd  on  high,  bright  and  sharp  as  a  razor, 
Blogg,  starting  upright,  "tipped  "  the  fellow  "a  facer;** 
— ^Down  went  man  and  weapon. — Of  all  sorts  of  blowa> 
From  what  Mr.  Jackson  reports,  I  suppose 
There  are  few  that  surpass  a  flush  hit  on  the  nose. 

Now,  had  I  the  pen  of  old  Ossian  or  Homer, 

(Though  each  of  these  names  some  pronounce  a  misnomer, 

And  say  the  first  person 

Was  call'd  James  M'Pherson, 
While,  as  to  the  second,  they  stoutly  declare 
He  waa  no  one  knows  who,  and  born  no  one  knows  where,) 


THE  bagman's  dog.  317 

Or  had  I  the  quill  of  Pierce  Egan,  a  writer 
Acknowledged  the  best  theoretical  fighter 
For  the  last  twenty  years. 
By  the  lively  young  Peers, 
Who,  doffing  their  coronets,  collars,  and  ermine,  treat 
Boxers  to  "Max,"  at  the  One  Tun  in  Jermyn  Street; — 
— I  say,  could  I  borrow  these  Gentlemen's  Muses, 
More  skill'd  than  my  meek  one  in  "fibbings"  and  bruises, 
I'd  describe  now  to  you 
As  "  prime  a  Set-to," 
And  "  regular  turn-up,"  as  ever  you  knew ; 
Not  inferior  in  "  bottom  "  to  aught  you  have  read  of 
Since  Cribb,  years  ago,  half  knock'd  Molyneoj^  head  off. 
But  my  dainty  Urania  says,  "Such  things  are  shocking  1" 
Lace  mittens  She  loves. 
Detesting  "The  Gloves;" 
And  turning,  with  air  most  disdainfully  mocking, 
From  Melpomene's  buskin,  adopts  the  silk  stocking 
So,  as  far  as  I  can  see, 
I  must  leave  you  to  "  fancy  " 
The  thumps  and  the  bumps,  and  the  ups  and  the  dov/ns, 
And  the  taps,  and  the  slaps,  and  the  raps  on  the  crowns. 
That  pass'd  twixt  the  Husband,  V(ife,  Bagman,  and  Dog, 
As  Blogg  roU'd  over  th«^m,  and  they  roU'd  over  Blogg ; 
While  what's  called  "  Tlie  Claret " 
Flew  over  the  garret : 
Merely- stating  the  fact, 
As  each  other  they  whack'd. 
The  Dog  his  old  master  most  gallantly  baek'd  ; 
Making  both  the  garqons,  who  came  running  in,  sheer  oft. 
With  "Hippolyte's  "  thumb,  and  "  Alphonse's"  left  ear  ofif 
Next,  making  a  stoop  on 
The  buffeung  group  on 
The  floor,  rent  in  tatters  the  old  woman's  _;wpon  ; 
Then  the  old  man  turn'd  up,  and  a  fresh  bite  of  Sancho'a 
Tore  out  the  whole  seat  of  his  striped  Calimancoe*.— 
Really,  which  way 
This  desperate  fray 


318  MR.    PETERS'S    STORY. 

Might  have  ended  at  last,  I'm  not  able  to  say, 
The  dog  keeping  thus  the  assassins  at  bav : 
But  a  few  fresh  arrivals  decided  the  day ; 

For  bounce  went  the  door, 

In  came  half  a  score 
Of  the  passengers,  sailors,  and  one  or  two  more 
Who  had  aided  the  party  in  gaining  the  shore  I 

It's  a  great  many  years  ago — mine  then  were  few — 
Since  I  spent  a  short  time  in  the  old  Courageux  ; — 

I  think  that  they  say 

She  had  been,  in  her  day, 
A  First-rate, — but  was  then  what  they  term  a  Easee, — 
And  they  took  me  on  board  in  the  Downs,  where  she  lay 
(Captain  Wilkinson  held  the  command  by  the  way.) 
In  her  I  pick'd  up,  on  that  single  occasion. 
The  little  I  know  that  concerns  Navigation, 
And  obtained,  inter  alia,  some  vague  information 
Of  a  practice  which  often,  in  cases  of  robbing. 
Is  adopted  on  shij^board — I  think  it's  call'd  "  Cobbing." 
How  it's  managed  exactly  I  really  can't  say, 
But  I  think  that  a  Boot-jack  is  brought  into  play — 
That  is,  if  I'm  right ; — it  exceeds  my  ability 

To  tell  how  'tis  done ; 

But  the  system  is  one 
Of  which  Sancho's  exploit  would  increase  the  facility. 
And,  from  all  I  can  learn,  I'd  much  rather  be  robb'd 
Of  the  little  I  have  in  my  purse,  than  be  "  cobb'd ;" 

That's  mere  matter  of  taste : 

But  the  Frenchman  was  placed — 
I  mean  the  old  scoimdrel  whose  actions  we've  traced — 
In  such  a  position,  that,  on  this  unmasking. 
His  consent  was  the  last  thing  the  men  thought  of  asking. 

The  old  woman,  too. 

Was  obliged  to  go  through, 
With  her  boys,  the  rough  discipline  used  by  the  crew. 
Who,  before  they  lot  one  of  the  set  see  the  back  of  them, 
**  Cobb'd  "  the  whole  oarty, — ay,  "  every  man  Jack  of  thenL." 


THE  baoman's  Doa.  319 


Moral. 


And  now,  Gentle  Reader,  before  that  I  saj 
Farewell  for  the  present,  and  wish  you  good  day, 
Attend  to  the  moral  I  draw  from  my  lay  1 — 

If  ever  you  travel,  like  Anthony  Blogg, 
Be  wary  of  strangers ! — don't  take  too  much  grog ! — 
And  don't  fall  asleep,  if  you  should,  like  a  hog  I— 
Above  all — carry  with  you  a  curly-tail'd  Dog ' 

Lastly,  don't  act  like  Blogg,  who,  I  say  it  with  blirehiDjr, 
Sold  Sancho  next  month  for  two  guineas  at  Flushing ; 
But  still  on  these  words  of  the  Bard  keep  a  fix'd  eye, 
Ingratum  si  dlxeris,  omnia  dixti  1 !  1 

X'  Envoye. 

I  felt  so  disgusted  with  Blogg,  from  sheer  shame  of  hin^ 
I  never  once  thought  to  enquire  what  became  of  him 
It  y&u  want  to  know,  Reader,  the  way  I  opine 
To  achieve  your  design, — 
— Mind,  it's  no  wish  of  mine, — 
la, — ^a  penny  will  do't,) — by  addressing  a  line 
To  Turner,  Dry,  Weipersyde,  Rogers^  and  Pyii« 


82U 


A  P  P  E  N  D  I  A. 

* 

Since  penning  this  stanza,  a  learn'd  Antiquary 
Has  put  my  poor  Muse  in  no  trifling  quandary. 
By  writing  an  essay  to  prove  that  he  knows  a 

Spot  which,  in  truth,  is 

The  real  "  Bermoothes," 
1q  the  Mediterranean, — now  called  Lampedosa; 
— For  proofs,  having  made,  as  he  further  alleges,  stif 
An  entry  was  found  in  the  old  Parish  Register, 
The  which  at  his  instance  the  excellent  Vicar  ex- 
tracted :  viz.  "  Caliban,  base  son  of  Sycorax." 

— He  had  rather,  by  half, 

Have  found  Prospero's  "Staff;" 
But  'twas  useless  to  dig,  for  the  want  of  a  pick  or  axe.- 
Colonel  Pasley,  however,  'tis  everywhere  said. 
Now  he's  blown  up  the  old  Royal  George  at  Spithead, 
And  the  great  cliff  at  Dover,  of  which  we've  all  read. 
Takes  his  whole  apparatus,  and  goes  out  to  look 
And  see  if  he  can't  try  and  blow  up  "the  Book.' 
—Gentle  Reader  farewell ! — If  I  add  one  more  lice, 
•*  Hell  be,  in  all  likelihood,  blowing  up  mine  I 

•  See  page  3Ww 


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